


End and Begin Again

by LadyJanus



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, mature themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:30:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJanus/pseuds/LadyJanus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Endgame A/U: Voyager doesn't make it back to the alpha quadrant, but life must go on!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To begin anew, choose direction

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No one owns imagination (thank the Universal Goddess), so just play with it! If the GOP (Gods of Paramount--that is) want this story, they’re welcome to it. 
> 
> Note: Written way back between 2002 to 2004 right after the end of the series, this is another short story that got away from me. This time an A/U that takes the other path Janeway didn’t take at the end of Engame. My biggest disappointment--besides the Chakotay/Seven crap--was the way it ended, with our favourite captain brooding alone on the bridge, barely a hint of triumph at her accomplishments and so little of her humanity left. I’ve tried in my own way to remedy that, plug up some glaring loopholes--like Tuvok’s convenient illness--and along the way fix what I saw as the most egregious flaw in Voyager’s cast of characters, the deus ex machina--Seven of Nine of course! In most other ways, I’ve tried to stick to canon when it comes to the characters, but I’ve taken liberties on the lower decks.

"Where are we?" Kathryn Janeway asked; her face was strained and taut in the emergency lighting on the bridge.

 

"Right where we expected to be," came Tom Paris' quiet reply; the response she'd been expecting--dreading.

 

"All stop," she ordered.

 

"We're back in the delta quadrant, Captain," Kim reported, his voice catching on the words. "We're 294 light years from the delta-beta quadrant boarder--approximately 5247 light years from the Borg nebula."

 

But he didn't give the most telling statistic; she could calculate it for herself. They were still nearly 30,000 light years from the Federation. The bitter failure of it hit her squarely in the gut. The Admiral had died to gain them a paltry 5000 light years--all because at the last moment, she’d refused one last gamble on the safety of her ship and opted instead for the transwarp corridor that led back into the delta quadrant.

 

Kathryn Janeway stood in the middle of her bridge, buffeted by silent winds of ruined hopes and disappointment, and her soul wept. Then as if a door opened within her, beckoning her to give up and hide from the bitter reality of it. Instead, she ruthlessly pushed her emotions into that little room and slammed the door; they could damned-well wait until she was ready to face them.

 

Her voice was steady when she spoke again. She met Chakotay’s gaze and thought she saw compassion there. “Commander, I’ll need departmental reports as soon as possible--a thorough assessment of all damage.”

 

“Aye Captain,” he replied, moving past Seven of Nine. He touched her shoulder, squeezing it gently before making his way to the First Officer’s chair.

 

A small spurt of indefinable emotion threatened the walls holding them back before Kathryn sealed the crack again. “Mr. Kim, find us a safe place to hide while we effect repairs,” she continued.

 

Harry nodded, disappointment etched on his open face, but before he could reply, the Doctor’s rather strident voice cut him off.

 

“Sickbay to Lieutenant Paris.”

 

And in those words a collective wave of new hopes washed over Janeway as Paris turned expectantly to her. An infant’s lusty wail filled the bridge.

 

“There’s someone here who’d like to say hello,” the Doctor continued with a sly, good humour that seemed to lighten the atmosphere considerably.

 

Kathryn smiled, grateful for this interruption and the good news inherent in the child’s cry. “You’d better get down there, Tom,” she said.

 

“Thanks, Captain,” he said breathlessly and he bolted for the turbolift without waiting for his replacement to formally take the helm.

 

Janeway glanced around once more and sat down, preparing herself for the deluge of damage reports and inevitable backlash of emotions once it sank in for the crew how close they’d been to home before it had been snatched away-- _before she’d snatched it away_.

 

#

 

Chakotay smiled down at the newest member of _Voyager’s_ family sleeping peacefully in his arms.

 

“She’s absolutely beautiful, B’Elanna,” he said softly. “I never thought I’d say it, but you and Tom made one gorgeous baby,” he joked.

 

B’Elanna blushed umber under her caramel complexion and snuggled back into Paris’ embrace as they lounged on the bed together. Chakotay chuckled as he sat on the edge of the bed and handed the baby back to B’Elanna; his old friend still had trouble taking a compliment about her beauty.

 

Paris grinned, the same proud and slightly foolish grin Chakotay was willing to bet he’d been wearing all day. The new father reached around his wife to stroke his daughter’s forehead ridges and trailed his finger down her brow to her delicate, yet determined little chin.

 

“Yup, we sure do,” Tom crowed happily and Chakotay was happy that they, at least, had something to celebrate.

 

B’Elanna seemed to read his thoughts. “How is everyone?” she asked soberly.

 

“Shell-shocked, disappointed that we didn’t get back to the Federation--disheartened to be back in the delta quadrant again,” he replied.

 

The light in Tom’s eyes went out. “I know--I went to see Harry a little while ago,” he said. “I’ve never seen him so bitter, Chakotay. He wouldn’t even come to see Miral.”

 

“Give him time, Tom,” Chakotay said, meeting the younger man’s blue eyes. “It’s a painful blow.”

 

“And the Captain?” B’Elanna persisted. “The Doctor said she came in earlier while I was asleep.”

 

“Still on the bridge,” he replied and squeezed her free hand as she started to speak. “She’s taking it hard, but at the moment, that’s where she needs to be.”

 

“And you, Chakotay?”

 

He smiled at the concern in her soft voice. “I’m a little disappointed after all our efforts and the Admiral’s sacrifice, but I’m fine, Bee. After all, I don’t have much waiting for me in the alpha quadrant,” he replied. He released her hand and stroked the baby’s cheek again. “Home is where you make it, and right now, I’ve made _Voyager_ my home. You’d be surprised at how many people have.”

 

She looked up into Tom’s eyes. “We know,” she answered quietly.

 

Chakotay rose, leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. He turned and offered Paris his hand. “Don’t worry you two,” he said as they shook hands. “And don’t feel guilty for your happiness. We’ll get through this--they’ll get through this. It’ll just take some time. I’ll see you guys later.”

 

Their goodbye followed him into the corridor outside sickbay and he paused, reflecting on the dichotomy of reactions in his crewmates. All day he’d sensed something, which finally crystallised in his conversation with B’Elanna and Tom--in one sense, the old divisions between Starfleet and Marquis were back. Only now, the divisions were between those who’d made _Voyager_ their home and those who still looked to Earth and the Federation as their home.

 

He looked up at the ceiling, thinking of the driven woman he’d left on the bridge working desperately to salvage some hope from the ashes of disappointment. He knew that she’d be blaming herself for putting the ship first and opting to take them away from the killing barrage of the Borg Sphere. The ablative hull armour had been ripped away, their shields and weapons were almost non-existent and yet, he knew that nothing he had to say would ever convince her that she had done the right thing. All her precious Starfleet training told her that she could have avoided destruction and brought her ship home--if only she’d been good enough.

 

No, he would never convince her that she was smart enough, fast enough-- _good enough_ \--and he was tired of trying. Chakotay turned and headed for Astrometrics.

 

#

 

Kathryn studied the tactical report on the PADD in her hands without really seeing it, only half her mind on the steady, and surprisingly soothing, drone of Tuvok’s voice as he updated their weapons status and defensive capabilities.

 

“Captain, by my calculations, you have been on duty for nineteen hours,” he said, changing topics so abruptly that it jolted her from the dark corridors of her thoughts, guilt and self-recriminations where her mind had been wandering for the last few hours. “I think it is time for you to take a break. Alpha shift went off-duty over three hours ago.”

 

“And you, Tuvok?” she whispered, meeting his gaze.

 

“Commander Chakotay has agreed to relieve me in five hours--”

 

She waved him silent and looked around the ready room, only the barely perceptible hum of the warp engines intruding on the quiet. “I meant how are you, Tuvok?” she asked, voice cracking at the last moment. “How are you holding up?”

 

Something ghosted through his dark eyes--emotion. “I am fine, Captain,” he replied without a hint of whatever it was colouring his voice.

 

She rose from her chair and walked over to the viewport, standing with her back to him as he continued speaking.

 

“The Doctor’s treatments ensure that I’m perfectly capable of carrying out my duties to this ship and will continue to do so for some time. It generally takes years before Vulcan cognitive abilities become irretrievably impaired due to _voh-katra-roq_ and by that time Lieutenant Ayala should be sufficiently trained to handle Tactical.”

 

“And when time runs out?” she asked, turning to face him again. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them flow. “We were so close, Tuvok--the cure--”

 

“Captain!” He didn’t raise his voice, so much as infused it with the hardness of duratanium alloy, which broke through the walls of her self-recrimination like a battering ram. Her eyes widened in surprise and her chin trembled as she regarded him. “As one surprisingly wise human adage puts it, we will ‘cross that bridge when we come to it’.”

 

She nodded.

 

“Please, Captain,” he continued, his voice unbearably gentle again. “Get some rest. We are nearing the target solar system and it appears to be as deserted as scans indicate. The ship is safe for the moment and there will be much to do tomorrow.”

 

Kathryn took a deep breath and nodded again. “Thank you, old friend,” she whispered hoarsely.

 

He sketched a polite bow and left. The ready room door closed softly behind him and Kathryn stood watching it for a long moment, willing her tears back into their depths. She drew another deep breath and went to her desk, gathered up the scattered PADDS and strode to the door. She paused and looked around the bridge as gamma shift continued their work.

 

“You have the bridge, Commander Tuvok,” she said.

 

“Aye, Captain,” he replied, crossing down to the command chair. “I have the bridge.”

 

She nodded her acknowledgement and walked purposefully to the turbolift, head held high.

 

#

 

Harry Kim sat motionless on the edge of his bed and regarded his reflection in the dark mirror across the room above his dressing table. He couldn’t sleep. Nothing he did brought rest. He ached all over from a day of crawling through the bowels of the ship fixing hull breaches, sensor relays and plasma conduits. Yet no amount of exhaustion would bring sleep.

 

_“What are you doing?”_

 

His reflection seemed to taunt him as he remembered Tom’s happy face when his friend had come to invite him to share in his joy. Harry cringed as he remembered his words and how Tom’s face had fallen when his best friend had lashed out at him.

 

Harry swiped at his tears, rose and walked over to his closet. After seven years, he knew his quarters even in the dark. As he reached for a uniform, his hand brushed another uniform--his Buster Kincaid costume.

 

“Well I’m glad you’re happy, Captain Proton—sorry if Buster Kincaid isn’t a barrel of laughs today!”

 

The walls seemed to shout his angry words back at him--words that berated Tom for his joy in his daughter’s birth. But as Harry’s tears fell in the darkness, a weight dropped away from his heart and after what seemed an eternity, he was finally able to stop. His hand moved away from the costume, past his uniforms and reached for a cream shirt and a pair of fawn-coloured pants.

 

Calling for lights, he dressed quickly and went into the bathroom to wash his face. He regarded his wan face in the mirror as he dried it with a soft, white towel. Tom and B’Elanna would understand.

 

After running a brush through his short hair, he left the bathroom, slipped on a pair of casual shoes and went to the replicator. He tapped in a few commands and studied the resultant menu for a moment.

 

“One black plush targ--pattern Beta-12--with a collar and gold heart-shaped tag to read the following: My name is K’Halor, I belong to Miral.”

 

#

 

Kathryn studied the new parents from the threshold of Sickbay. Tom and B’Elanna were so caught up in their daughter that they were oblivious to her presence. _As they should be_ , her conscience prodded her.

 

A heated conversation--between Mortimer Harren and Lydia Anderson--overheard on her way to her quarters, had jolted Kathryn into remembering she still had one final duty to perform for the day.

 

It wasn’t Harren’s very vocal ire at finding himself once more in uncharted territory or his wrath for his Captain’s “incompetence and inability, time after time, to take advantage of opportunities” to get them home” that had bothered her. It was his anger towards those able to weather the disappointment of not getting back to the alpha quadrant that had drawn her attention. Those like Tom and B’Elanna, Seven, Chakotay, the Marquis and the former _Equinox_ crew--all those who in his words, “belonged in jail, if not under it.”

 

Anderson had shouted him down and bullied him into her quarters. Kathryn hadn’t realised that the belligerent young man was in a relationship with the quiet lieutenant in charge of Shield Maintenance. There was so much she didn’t know about them, even after so many years on the same ship. However, she realised that Harren’s attitude wouldn’t be unique--was in fact normal given the circumstances. But she couldn’t allow such feelings to fester or it would open a schism between the various factions of the crew, wider than the original animosity they’d endured during the first months after uniting the Starfleet and the Marquis crews.

 

The healing needed to start immediately. She had continued on to her quarters and went straight to her closet, dropping her PADDs on the dining table as she passed it. She pulled a navy blue cloth bag from the top shelf, opened it to assure herself everything was in order, and left her quarters quickly.

 

Now she stood just inside the Sickbay doors watching her officers--and friends--marvel over the new life they’d created.

 

“Is this a private party or can anyone join?” she asked, strolling over to B’Elanna’s bed.

 

Torres’ eyes lit up. “Captain!”

 

Kathryn leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Congratulations, B’Elanna,” she said, before turning to offer Tom a warm hug and congratulations.

 

“Would you like to hold her, Captain?” B’Elanna asked gently. Kathryn nodded and placed her bag on the edge of the bed before taking the baby from her mother.

 

“My, you’re a big, little girl,” she said smiling down into the baby’s hazel eyes. Kathryn stood entranced, gazing into those innocent trusting eyes as she stroked the soft halo of light brown hair. For an eternal moment, nothing existed for her but the child in her arms. She placed a forefinger into the baby’s grasp.

 

“Strong as well as beautiful,” she joked.

 

“Just like her mother,” Harry’s voice was soft in her ear, startling her as he peered over her shoulder.

 

“You can certainly say that again,” Kathryn chuckled, joining his levity. But she could see the remnants of the young man’s sorrow in his dark almond eyes.

 

“Harry,” Tom said simply and drew him into a tight hug. They clapped each other soundly, before Harry moved out of Tom’s embrace and sat on the bed to hug B’Elanna.

 

“You did great, Marquis,” he said hoarsely and B’Elanna laughed at the old nickname.

 

“Thanks, Starfleet,” she replied, kissing his pale cheek and hugging him again.

 

Kathryn watched their embrace with approval as the tension bled from Harry Kim’s body. Tom was usually the more demonstrative partner, while his prickly wife generally held people at arms’ length. In many ways, B’Elanna’s understanding of Harry surprised Kathryn, but in the most important way it didn’t. They were friends.

 

“Would you like to hold her, Harry?” Kathryn asked. His head jerked up, startled as Kathryn lowered the little bundle into his arms.

 

“Wh-what if I drop her?” he asked cradling the baby gingerly.

 

“You’re doing fine,” B’Elanna laughed. She reached for the baby’s tiny hand and waved it at him. “Well Miral, say hello to your Uncle Harry.”

 

Harry gave a little yelp. “Hey, she just smiled at me!” he exclaimed, simple joy spreading over his open face. Kathryn leaned in to see the baby’s face screwed up in a toothless, drooling grin--adorable.

 

“It’s most likely gas from being jostled here and there--passed around like a sack of leola root.” The Doctor’s acerbic voice came from behind them. He walked over to the bed monitors and studied them for a moment.

 

“Nope, it was definitely a smile,” Harry protested. “A lovely, wonderful smile.” He reached for the small, plush toy he’d brought and tucked it in next to her. “Miral, I’d like to introduce you to a very special targ--K’Halor.”

 

“The Protector,” Tom finished, translating the name of the Klingon “patron saint” of children and smiling at his friend fondly. He placed one hand on Harry’s shoulder. An understanding seemed to pass between them.

 

“I see we’re of one mind, Harry,” Kathryn laughed, reaching into the bag and pulling out the small blanket she’d been working on for months. Along the boarder, tiny black targs and brown collie pups frolicked and chased each other.

 

“It’s beautiful, Captain,” B’Elanna whispered, her fingers tracing the patterns of bright primary colours.

 

“I’m glad you like it,” Kathryn replied as the younger woman hugged her tightly. As Torres let go, she continued. “In a couple of days, I’ll embroider ‘Miral’ in one corner, using whatever pattern you choose.”

 

“Actually, Captain,” Tom drawled. “It’s Miral Kathryn Torres-Paris.” Kathryn’s eyes flew to his in wordless astonishment, then to B’Elanna’s.

 

“If you don’t mind, Captain,” Torres said hesitantly.

 

This time the tears escaped her barriers before she could stop them and she wiped them with trembling fingers. Smiling through her tears, she reached out to squeeze B’Elanna’s hand gently and offered her other hand to Tom. And as she looked down at their joined hands, in that moment she knew they were family.

 

“No, I don’t mind,” she answered hoarsely. “I’m very honoured.”

 

#

 

_"Congratulations Captain!" Admiral Owen Paris said smiling broadly as confetti and ticker-tape rained down. A brass band played the rolling flourishes of the Federation Anthem in the background. "You brought your ship home!"_

_Disoriented, Kathryn tried to leave her ship and push past the wall of bodies. Owen gave a low mocking chuckle, which the assembled admirals and Starfleet personnel echoed._

_"You lost your crew, but you brought your ship home! Tell me, Kathryn, how did they all die? Where is my son? Where is my son, Kathryn?" Admiral Paris taunted. "Where is my granddaughter?"_

_Other voices took up the chant, rising to a roaring crescendo as they too demanded sons and daughters, friends and loved ones. It rolled over her like a tidal wave, smashing her on the rocks of despair._

_Kathryn backed away from the horrible mocking faces--away from malevolent eyes that threatened to tear her apart. Her back hit something hard, immovable and she turned to face the dead, accusing eyes of her crew . . . Chakotay . . . Tuvok . . . Tom . . . B’Elanna . . . Harry . . . Kes . . . Lindsay Ballard . . . Joe Carey . . ._

_She tried to speak, but no sound came from her throat. She had no words to explain and as phantom hands tore at her clothes, her flesh, her soul, she screamed--_

 

The scream died in her throat as she jolted awake, sitting bolt upright in her bed gasping for air. Great wracking sobs rocked her body and she wrapped her arms around herself as if to keep from flying apart. Tears coursed down her face. She wanted to scream. Instead, she curled up on her bed and bit down on her forearm. Her belly lurched in painful spasms, as though some giant hand was twisting her gut.

 

Her fingers clawed at the sheets, twisting them until the sensations passed and she could breathe again. Gradually her body quietened. Exhausted, she rolled on her back to watch the cold, alien stars of the delta quadrant through her viewport.

 

A muffled thump startled her and her eyes were drawn automatically to the wall between her bedroom and her neighbour’s. Then . . . a soft indistinct voice. Chakotay. She wondered if he was alone.

 

She lay rigid for a few minutes, then rose, slipped out of her damp, clammy night-dress and pulled on her robe. Scrubbing away the tears that threatened again, she left the bedroom and went directly to the replicator. After ordering a cup of coffee, she curled up on the sofa, drew her mother’s colourful afghan over her legs and returned to stargazing.

 

#

 

“--and we should have the burnt-out plasma relays replaced by fifteen hundred hours, Captain,” Nicoletti reported to the senior staff the next morning. “Repairs to the starboard nacelle will take approximately two, possibly three weeks. Meanwhile, we're still studying how best to repair the armour. Given the volume of repairs still to be done, I’d like your permission to reassign personnel from other departments to those tasks that don't require specialised engineering training--like the diagnostics of the replacement plasma relays.”

 

“Granted Lieutenant,” Kathryn replied. She smiled; the younger woman had come a long way since her early days on Voyager when she'd been seen as a rather cold fish. She had taken her sudden promotion to second in command in Engineering in stride. And although Kathryn wished that Joe Carey were still alive, she had to admit that while B’Elanna was on maternity leave, Engineering was in good hands.

 

She turned to look down the left-hand side of the briefing room table. “Seven, since Astrometrics is up and running again with its usual efficiency, turn over the data collection to Icheb--Commander Chakotay, please oversee his work.” She smiled apologetically to Chakotay and he nodded, adding the task to his already over-burdened schedule. “Seven, I want you to report to Lieutenant Nicoletti, give her whatever help she needs with the repairs.”

 

Expecting the usual “Yes, Captain”, Kathryn had turned back to speak to Nicoletti when Seven’s voice interrupted.

 

“Captain, I believe that I can best serve the ship by continuing my work in Astrometrics,” she said.

 

Kathryn turned slowly to face her annoyed that her protégé chose that moment to question her orders. Seven looked at her with a steady-- _superior_ \--gaze, as if flexing some unseen power.  

 

“You do?” Kathryn asked, eyes narrowing as she considered the younger woman thoughtfully. This was no time for power plays, but if that was what Seven wanted, that was what she would get.

 

The former Borg continued haughtily, oblivious to Janeway’s annoyance. “Yes, the Midas Array will broadcast its next download to us--or rather the position it believes us to be--sometime within the next two weeks, between Stardates 55090.4 and 55128.8. I believe that if I can correlate and triangulate on the sub-space frequency of the broadcast, I can intercept the download and signal the Pathfinder Team to tune the array to our present position.”

 

“I see,” Janeway replied mildly. “And how far along are you with this project?”

 

“I’ve set up the search parameters and algorithms for scanning across the middle and lower sub-space bands,” she answered smugly, and Kathryn realised that she was counting on the fact that her Captain wouldn’t pull her from such an important task. “After this meeting, I will begin work on the upper sub-space bands correlated with the array’s characteristic frequency.”

 

The briefing room was silent when the Captain spoke again. Out of the corner of her eye, Kathryn saw an indefinable look ghost over Chakotay’s face, before his placid mask covered it again. She didn’t allow herself to dwell on what it might have meant.

 

“No,” she said. Seven regarded her in shock. “After this meeting, you will report to Engineering and avail yourself to whatever Lieutenant Nicoletti requires of you. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Seven frowned and opened her mouth to protest.

 

“A few words of advice, Seven,” Kathryn continued before she could make a sound. “The _only_ acceptable response to a direct order is ‘Yes, Captain.’ Is that understood?”

 

“Yes, _Captain_ ,” the former Borg rasped out harshly.

 

“Excellent.” She turned her back on the glowering woman and addressed Harry. “Ensign Kim, once you’ve finished re-calibrating the main sensor grid, I’d like you to set up the astrometrics sensor parameters to scan the upper bands for Icheb and make sure he understands what we’re attempting.”

 

“Yes, Captain,” Kim said smartly, consulting his PADD. “I can get to it by 11:00 hours.”

 

“Good, and after you’ve finished in Astrometrics, report to Shield Maintenance. Lieutenant Anderson requested help co-ordinating the diagnostics of the shield grid.”

 

“Aye, Captain,” Kim replied, raising his head to spare her a smile before busily tapping away at his PADD again.

 

She smiled again at Nicoletti. “Lieutenant, why don’t you send all the information on the damage to the ablative armour to my ready room computer and we’ll see if the Captain is still any good at engineering.”

 

“Yes, Captain,” the young woman replied with a sudden smile that erased the stern lines of her normal demeanour. “Thank you.”

 

“Well, if there’s nothing else, dismissed.” She watched them leave, Seven shouldering her way past Chakotay angrily. To anyone else, she was simply Seven being Seven. But Kathryn wondered if the young woman had expected her lover to jump to her defence. It hurt Kathryn that neither of them thought enough of her to tell her about their relationship --she'd had to find out from the Admiral.

 

She’d long been afraid that she couldn’t give Chakotay the kind of relationship he wanted. Perhaps it wasn’t in her to give; she realised now. Perhaps somewhere along the way she’d lost the capacity to give herself wholly to another without amputating the part of her that was the Captain--at least it felt that way in the wee hours when her demons rose. And last night there had been demons aplenty.

 

Kathryn stood and gathered up her PADDs. She couldn’t afford to wallow in misery. Her officers’ decisions were their own and whether or not she liked or approved of it, they were going to form relationships, have babies and get on with their lives the best they could. It seemed that everyone but her had accepted that quick fixes like Sikiran space-folders, warp 10 insta-travel, wormholes, slipstream and . . . _and time-travelling Admirals with anti-Borg technology and transwarp conduits up her sleeves_ . . . would be few and far between. _Voyager_ was destined to be a generational ship and her Captain would have to accept it--and deal with it all--the best way she knew how.

 

#

 

“Right this way, ladies,” Tom Paris said as he guided B’Elanna through the door to their quarters. Torres lowered herself slowly onto the couch, cradling their daughter in her arms. Tom dropped the baby-bag the Captain had given them with the blanket.

 

“How are you?” he asked gently, removing her shoes and putting her feet up on the ottoman.

 

She smiled tiredly. “Sore, tired--glad to be home.”

 

“I’ll get dinner--” He started to rise, but she held him back.

 

“I’m not hungry right now,” she said and he looked at her in surprise. She laughed. “I know, I know--it’s a shock after months of me eating everything in sight, but the Doctor insisted I eat while we waited for you.” Tom chuckled softly and kissed her on the cheek. “So how’s my ship?”

 

Tom threw his head back and laughed harder. “And here I was thinking that Janeway was Captain. I should have known you had an ulterior motive for your impatience to leave sickbay,” he quipped.

 

“I always have an ulterior motive for leaving sickbay,” she replied, shifting Miral to a more comfortable position in her arms. “Seriously, how is everything--has Nicoletti got the engines put back together?”

 

Tom raised an eyebrow. “With the Captain looking over her shoulder--you bet!” he laughed. “Nicoletti might act half-Vulcan most of the time, but the woman has some sense of self-preservation. Janeway even drafted yours truly to oversee the diagnostics on the new plasma relays.”

 

“Then I’d better get on the horn and have a proper engineer redo them,” she groused.

 

“Hey!”

 

She laughed and snuggled closer to him, tucking her feet under her.

 

“Anyway,” he continued quietly. “Marla Gilmore actually did all the real work--”

 

B’Elanna lifted her head from his shoulder to regard him closely. He quirked a roguish grin.

 

“The Captain pulled her from one of the bulkhead work crews. With Ron Carlson and Ombagi U'Lanai from Security, Bristow from Cartography, Mendez from Maintenance and Chell, I think Janeway figured she needed at least one properly trained engineer to make sure we were pointing the diagnostic tricorders at the correct bits of machinery. Not to mention helping me figure out which end of an interference-flux calibrator was which without looking like an idiot.”

 

“But you’re such an adorable idiot,” she laughed, sitting up. He rose and helped her to stand. Following her into the bedroom, he watched her settle Miral into her crib. He reached in and tucked K’Halor the Targ in close to the baby as B’Elanna tucked a soft pink blanket around her.

 

“Where’s the Captain’s blanket?” he whispered.

 

“She came and got it today,” B’Elanna replied leading him back into the living room.   “She promised to get it back to us in a few days with ‘Miral Kathryn’ embroidered on it--she was so enthusiastic about it, although where she’ll get the time for hand embroidery, I don’t know.”

 

“Tell me about it,” he laughed as they settled on the couch again. “She’s personally overseeing the ablative armour repair and already has teams scouring the system for asteroids containing useable ores--at least until we can get power systems up and running at peak capacity again. Plus she has to deal with everything else that’s going on. I don’t know how she does it.”

 

Her voice was soft and gentle as she turned into him. “And I don’t know how you do it--how you always know the right thing to do for other people.” Tom felt privileged to be the one person who saw this side to her on a daily basis.

 

“Not always,” he said regretfully.

 

“Perhaps not,” she replied. “But it was very sweet of you to give Miral her name--I think she needed it just then.”

 

He rubbed her shoulders thoughtfully. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t consult you first--there wasn’t time--”

 

She pulled his head down to kiss him. “It was a perfect, wonderful gesture.”

 

“You should have seen her, B’Elanna, when we ended up back in the delta quadrant again,” he said. “And lately, she hasn’t been getting much personal support from Chakotay. Tuvok’s great, but let’s face it--our logical Vulcan friend can only go so far. And there’s something else in the mix, but I’ve been so caught up in our lives in the last few months, I’m not sure how long it’s been going on--”

 

“How long what’s been going on?” she demanded.

 

“First you have to promise me you won’t fly off the handle.”

 

She pulled away from him indignantly. “I do _not_ fly off the handle!” she shouted and he gazed pointedly at her. B’Elanna puffed her cheeks and blew the air out noisily. “Alright, what do you mean he hasn’t been supporting her--last time I looked, he was still her First Officer and best friend.”

 

“But when was the last time you really talked to him, B’Elanna?” Tom asked.

 

“Lots of times--in fact, we talked a lot after Quarra,” she said. “And I know that the Captain was a big part of why he was so frantic about getting the crew back.”

 

“And within the couple of weeks we were gone she’d fallen in love with a complete stranger and moved in with him--was ready to marry him--”

 

“What?” B’Elanna stared at him incredulously. “How can you compare--she was brainwashed, Tom! Her entire identity stripped from her! Hell, I didn’t even know who you were and I’m you wife! You’re completely wrong! It’s like blaming a rape victim for what was done to her. How can anyone--least of all _Chakotay_ \--possibly blame her for that? He cares about her.”

 

“Yeah, and we both know how long he’s cared for her,” Paris said soberly. “And for years she’s given him no encouragement that she might consider a relationship with him. So I think that he got tired of waiting for her--of waiting for something that would never happen--and moved on. On Quarra, I think that he saw Kathryn Janeway, the woman, completely free of Captain Janeway perhaps for just the second time in the seven years that we’ve known her and he knew that once she was back on _Voyager_ \--once she was Captain--he wouldn’t see Kathryn again. Therefore, he cut his losses, because exactly the same thing happened the last time he saw Kathryn Janeway--after we rescued them from New Earth.”

 

She settled back--unhappily--in his embrace, her face thoughtful as she considered her oldest friend on _Voyager_. “Alright, supposing I could see your point,” she conceded. “What makes you so sure he’s moved on?”

 

“Something Chell said today set off a few alarm bells regarding some other things I’ve noticed lately, but hadn’t paid that much attention to. All the pieces of the puzzle just sort of fell into place,” he replied.

 

And something about the impatient look in her eyes told him that he’d better get to the point before he ended up on the couch that night.

 

“A couple of weeks ago, just before we ran into the Borg nebula for the first time, I met Chakotay in the turbolift outside of cargo bay one. He smelled of potato chips and cherry cola--and I should know--I programmed them into the replicator myself. Anyway, today Chell was joking with Mendez about getting his picnic basket back from Seven of Nine, so that they would have something to carry the engineering tools in.”

 

B’Elanna’s eyes widened with disbelief as she realised what he was leading up to.

 

“Apparently, she’s been brushing up on social skills of a more _personal_ nature,” Tom quipped, “and they were speculating about which lucky man got to share her chips, cherry cola and sandwiches.”

 

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” B’Elanna growled in a low, dangerous voice. “Not Seven!”

 

He shook his head. “And then there’s the fact that I caught Doc studying Seven’s cortical implant at around the same time--more specifically, studying the deactivation of the failsafe circuitry that governs her emotional balance so that she can safely experience a wider range of emotional states. Then there was the way Admiral Janeway reacted to both Seven and Chakotay--I’m not sure, but I think she said something to them and probably to _Captain_ Janeway as well. Finally, there’s the way Chakotay and Seven have been acting lately. He seems awfully fond of Astrometrics all of a sudden and a lot less fond of the Captain’s company. Furthermore, given the way Seven acted at this morning’s briefing--lets just say that ‘smug’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

 

B’Elanna gaped at him. “What do you mean?”

 

“The Captain ordered her to turn the astrometric scanning over to Icheb and report to Engineering--after all, personnel from every department not involved with essential systems was helping out with repairs. But Seven, being Seven, felt that her work was too important to interrupt and felt it necessary to point out to Janeway just how important that work was,” he said, grinning as he cut off her intended protest. “I know, I know, everyone’s used to Seven’s insubordination, but today there was a little something extra going on--the proprietary way she looked at Chakotay, the smugness dripping from her insubordination. It wasn’t our ex-Borg automaton stating the bald facts about her superior astro-cartography skills, it was more like watching a sixteen-year-old tell another sixteen-year-old to keep her mitts off her man--except--”

 

“Except Janeway’s no teenager and he was her man long before we’d even heard of Seven of Bloody Nine!” B’Elanna finished savagely.

 

Paris grinned. “Worse,” he said, surprising her again. “Except Janeway’s the Captain and the only acceptable response to her orders is ‘Yes, Captain.’ Looking back now, I think that Seven was counting on Chakotay loyalty--counting on him to intervene on her behalf so she could get her own way while rubbing Janeway’s face in the fact that he was hers now. And when it didn’t come off, boy was she ever pissed!”

 

“Damn!” B’Elanna muttered. “How far do you think it’s gone?”

 

“I don’t know,” he replied, all traces of amusement gone now, “far enough that Seven feels possessive towards him, but exactly how far that is for him?” He shrugged. “A couple of dates, maybe more--”

 

“Bed?”

 

“Possibly,” he acknowledged. “I haven’t been paying attention long enough to gauge.”

 

“Damn,” she repeated softly.

 

#

 

Chakotay stood on the threshold of Astrometrics watching Seven as she moved briskly between consoles, entering commands. She could hardly fail to notice he was standing there, but she continued to ignore him.

 

Finally, he stepped further into the room and allowed the doors to close behind him. “I thought we had a dinner date scheduled at 1900 hours,” he said quietly.

 

“I have work to do,” she replied, without a hint of apology for standing him up. She’d refused to answer his hails. Finally, after half an hour of waiting, he’d gone looking for her, wondering what the hell was wrong now. It had taken time to persuade her that the Admiral’s version of the future needn’t come to pass and he had a feeling her actions now stemmed from more of the same insecurity.

 

Damn Kathryn Janeway anyway--past, present and future!

 

“It’s usually polite to let the other party know when you can’t make an appointment,” he said placidly. “And by my reckoning, you’ve been off-duty for the last three hours.”

 

She continued her tasks without stopping to make eye contact. “I would have gone off-duty as scheduled if Captain Janeway had not allowed Icheb to run these scans. Already, I have found two errors in his performance of the sensor sweeps. He simply does not have the analytical skills required.”

 

“So you found two mistakes in three hours,” Chakotay mused studying her. “I guess we’ll just have to string him up from the yard-arm,” he chuckled.

 

She deigned to stop and look at him, her lips thinning in disapproval. “I don’t see anything about the situation that warrants your amusement. If you had supported my position this morning, this would not have happened!”

 

“No,” he said quietly. “If I’d supported your position, I would have been wrong. The Captain has every right to reassign you as she sees fit. She has the right to reassign any crewmember where she feels they can be most useful and in this instance she was entirely correct. You’re helping to get the warp engines back up to capacity and Icheb is learning new skills performing some very valuable scans.”

 

“Scans he performed inadequately!” she snapped, banging her hands on the console, before turning to climb the steps to the platform in front the massive holographic viewscreen.

 

Chakotay stared at her in shock before following her to the computer interface to the left side of the viewer while she continued her tirade.

 

“And while he is learning, this ship may well miss the only opportunity to re-establish contact with the alpha quadrant. If we miss the broadcast by even 30 light minutes, we might as well miss it by 30,000 light years. Or perhaps that is what the _Captain_ wants!”

 

“I think you know better than that, Seven,” he replied, catching her arm and turning her to face him. “What is this really about?”

 

The young woman looked away and Chakotay saw a single tear slide past her defences. “The Captain--” Seven began softly.

 

“ _She_ has nothing to do with _us_ , Seven,” he said, wiping the tear away with his thumb. “She’s a friend and a colleague--nothing more. It’s all she’s ever asked from me and unless I’m mistaken, she has always been your friend as well."

 

“But there was a time when you wanted more from her,” she said, staring past his shoulder and refusing to look him in the eye. “You wanted to explore a relationship with her.”

 

“Yes, and now I want more from you,” he answered, drawing her close to him. “I want to explore a relationship with you, Seven of Nine. Was I mistaken? What do you want?”

 

He felt the tension leave her shoulders. “No, you were not mistaken, I do want to explore this relationship with you,” she said, smiling brightly through her tears as she turned her face up to him. His lips hovered millimetres from hers and he allowed her to reach up and initiate the kiss.

 

Her lips were soft and lush; he pulled her closer.

 

And lost in the sensations of kissing her, he didn’t hear the astrometrics doors close once more behind him. Indeed, he’d never even heard them open.

 

#

 


	2. Vanquishing demons

“Come on!” Naomi Wildman called loudly to her mother, racing around the corner ahead of her. Samantha tried to curb her annoyance at her child’s impatience to see the new baby. Suddenly there was a startled shout, followed by a noisy clatter and Samantha increased her speed instinctively.

 

Skidding to a stop where the corridors converged, she was greeted by a most unusual sight; Naomi and another person lay on the deck in a tangle of arms and legs. As the little girl crawled off, she was mortified to realise just who lay beneath her.

 

“Captain!” she squeaked.

 

“Hello, Miss Wildman,” the Captain said sitting up. A small smile played on her lips. “Fancy running into you here.”

 

“C-Captain, I’m so-so-so-so-sorrry!” she wailed on the verge of tears.

 

Janeway chuckled softly as Sam stooped to gather the scattered PADDs. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re so-so-so-so-sorry, Naomi,” she said grinning. “Because we might have a problem if you were only so-so-sorry. Help an old lady up, will you please, Samantha?”

 

Samantha Wildman laughed as she gave the Captain a hand up. Naomi looked on in confusion.

 

“But you’re not old,” she piped up. “Admiral Janeway was old.”

 

Something akin to pain flashed into the Captain’s blue eyes as she retrieved the PADDs from Sam, but she looked down at Naomi with a brilliant smile.

 

“Why thank you, Miss Wildman,” she said. “Spoken like a true Captain’s Assistant.”

 

Naomi’s face fell. “Am I still your assistant--even though I knocked you over?” she asked fearfully.

 

“Of course,” Janeway said gently. “No harm done except to my butt--” She twisted to look at her behind. When she turned again, her eyes were twinkling. “And as you can see, it’s well-padded.”

 

She and Naomi giggled conspiratorially, but Samantha’s smile froze as she watched the Captain. Janeway wasn’t well padded--and was even less so now than a couple of weeks ago. Before the Borg nebula, before Admiral Janeway and her future knowledge--before their attempt to get home had failed. In fact, the Captain was beginning to look frighteningly gaunt.

 

“So where are you off to in such a hurry?” Janeway asked Naomi, pulling Samantha out of her thoughts. “No, let me guess,” she chuckled, looking down the corridor leading to crew quarters. “Tom & B’Elanna’s?”

 

Naomi fairly bounced with excitement. “Yes Captain, we’re going to see the baby! Icheb is meeting us there and then we’re going to the holodeck.”

 

“Well, you shouldn’t keep them waiting,” the Captain said, turning to go. “Have fun.”

 

“Thank you, Captain,” Samantha said quietly. Naomi echoed her and they continued on to Paris and Torres’ quarters.

 

Icheb was already inside when they arrived, sitting gingerly on the couch and trying unsuccessfully to look everywhere but at the armchair where Torres sat breastfeeding Miral. Sam smothered a smile with a cough as Naomi, oblivious to her friend’s embarrassment, marched over and climbed up onto the padded arm of the chair to watch the baby feed.

 

“Oh, she’s so cute!” her daughter said in an exaggerated, too-loud whisper. “Isn’t she cute, Icheb?”

 

Samantha didn’t think the boy could get any more embarrassed, but the former Borg child positively squirmed in his seat as he blushed furiously. “I will take your word for it that she is--cute,” he said at last.

 

Torres’ eyes positively sparkled with mischief as she met Sam’s gaze. “So Icheb, Tom tells me that you're in charge of Astrometrics these days,” she said.

 

The poor boy squirmed some more before answering. “I am not in charge of Astrometrics,” he said in the pedantic Borg way he had when under stress. “That is Seven’s purview. But the Captain did ask me to run the subspace scans,” he finished with a note of pride.

 

Samantha noticed that he managed to look only at B’Elanna’s face, trying frantically to ignore what was happening below the neck. Torres had a nursing bib discretely covering her, while the baby’s bulk blocked anything that might have showed, but Icheb still looked mortified at the prospect that he might actually see something. Sam found it curious--yet rather endearing--that he reacted with the same discomfort most fifteen-year-old boys would feel in such a situation.

 

“Naomi,” he called. “If we are to be on time for our holodeck reservation, we should leave now. You were late arriving for this appointment.”

 

Naomi was clearly torn between the baby and the treat of extra holodeck time on Icheb’s credit. “Mom made me clean up my room before we could come,” she temporised, "and then I was in such a hurry, I ran into the Captain on the way and knocked her over."

 

Torres' eyebrows lifted to her forehead ridges.

 

“Well, if you’d kept it tidy in the first place, it wouldn’t have been such a chore,” Samantha admonished. "Then you wouldn't have needed to rush in order to see Miral--and you could have watched where you were going more carefully."

 

Naomi pouted at the lecture, then leaned over the baby again and waved. “I’ll see you later, Miral,” she said.

 

Samantha watched in amusement as she jumped off the chair and barrelled out with a perfunctory “Bye Mom”, leaving Icheb to chase after her. Sam envied her energy.

 

“She’s adorable,” Torres chuckled as the door closed behind the boy. She smoothed her blouse back into place and lifted the baby to her shoulder, patting her back.

 

“She’s a royal pain in the posterior,” Sam retorted. “Wait till Miral is that age--there were times when I wished Naomi would stay this size forever,” she said, gazing wistfully at the baby.

 

B’Elanna nodded; her eyes were soft as she regarded her friend. “At least I have someone to turn to.”

 

“Ha!” Samantha scoffed, a little embarrassed and more than a little pleased.

 

Torres shook her head. “No, in the last couple of days, I’ve come to realise what a remarkable job you’ve done with her, Sam,” B’Elanna said quietly--sincerely. "I don't know how you did it all alone. At least I have Tom, but there have been moments when I've wondered what the hell we thought we were doing. When am I going to find time for everything, Samantha?" she said with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

 

The baby gave a loud, healthy burp and sighed contentedly.

 

Samantha smiled with what she hoped was reassurance--how she remembered despairing over the same question six years before. She supposed every new mother did.

 

"At the risk of sounding like the village Wise Woman," she said helping Torres settle Miral in her little bassinet. "You won't."

 

B'Elanna looked at her in surprise.

 

"There isn't enough time in a day, and it's doubly so when you have a child. You're going to have to choose between your daughter and your engines," she continued with a soft chuckle as she pointed to the sleeping baby. "And I don't think she's going to like playing second fiddle to the plasma feeds--in fact if she's anything like her mother, I doubt she'd stand for it."

 

"No, she won't," B'Elanna said smiling fondly at Miral.

 

"Then you're going to have to make some choices and stick with them," Samantha said. "Including telling the Captain "no" to certain things and letting other people take the risks."

 

Torres turned again to meet her gaze. Sam quirked a nostalgic smile. "I still remember marching into her quarters and telling her no more away missions or dangerous assignments until Naomi was at least four or five, depending on how much the K'Tarian half of her genome accelerated her growth and providing her cognitive skills kept up. All the Captain did was smile and say that she understood, and that she would let the Commander know--"

 

Samantha broke off with a sudden laugh.

 

"What?" B'Elanna asked, watching her in amusement.

 

Sam drew a deep breath in an effort to curb her laughter. "To think I went over there ready to fight our intractable martinet of a Captain tooth and nail for my right to be with my baby; I must have sounded like such an officious idiot. And all she did was pat me on the shoulder--say she'll take care of everything and not to worry."

 

B'Elanna Torres giggled and then snickered behind her hand to hide her giggles--she hated sounding like a demented five-year-old when she giggled.

 

Samantha chuckled softly. "I think that it had to do more with own my love of going on away missions. I'm a science officer; what use was I in here--" she said gesturing expansively. "When everything I want to study is out there," she continued, pointing this time to the viewport.

 

"I got used to working in sickbay and lab work, but . . . I suppose, in some convoluted way, that need to fight her gave me a sort of absolution from the guilt of wanting to go on those missions even though I knew that I had Naomi to think of." Sam smiled ruefully. "And I think that the Captain knew it somehow--made it easy for me to put my foot down, to say to her "This is how it's going to be". Yet in a strange way, with a smile, a few simple words and gestures, she let me know that it was ok to miss my work--my away missions."

 

"Yeah, she's great at looking out for everyone else," Torres said soberly.

 

"And not so great about looking out for herself," Samantha finished and B'Elanna raised an eyebrow. Sam shrugged. "Naomi really did knock her over," she explained. "Not that a gust of wind wouldn't have done the same, mind you. It's like something's wearing away at her--diminishing or erasing her--but I'm so used to seeing the Captain and it's been so gradual, that I couldn't say when it started or how long it's been going on. I guess that seven years of disappointment will do that to you."

 

“Yeah, well I think that everyone is too used to seeing “the Captain”, including one idiot of a First Officer,” B’Elanna growled. Sam regarded her in surprise. Unlike her wayward spouse, Torres rarely instigated gossip regarding the command team.

 

“You’re usually the first to defend him, B’Elanna,” she observed quietly. “What’s wrong?”

 

Torres ran one hand through her lustrous, chocolate-brown hair and gave another growl of frustration. Sam noted that the old adage about women’s hair during pregnancy also held for Klingons--or perhaps that was B’Elanna’s human side coming out.

 

“The p’tak is dating again,” she began and Sam was bursting to ask for details, but something in Torres’ eyes made her keep silent. “Seven.”

 

Samantha looked at her in confusion, certain that she’d lost track of the conversation somewhere as her mind conjured one crisp image. “Seven of Nine?” she asked Torres, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice. The other woman nodded. “But he doesn’t even _like_ her.”

 

“Apparently he does now,” B’Elanna retorted.

 

“Damn, does Janeway--” Sam stopped herself and looked at B’Elanna. “Yes, of course she knows.”

 

“Tom thinks that the Admiral told her.”

 

“Good God,” Samantha whispered. “No wonder she’s taking it so hard--what the hell was he thinking?” She laughed--bitterly--angrily. “Of all the cruel slaps in the face!”

 

“Sam?” B’Elanna asked in concern, surprised at the unusual fury from the normally mild woman.

 

“Any other woman, B’Elanna, any other woman and I think that she could accept it--be happy for him because he was happy, even if her own heart was breaking. You don’t think she knows what her self-imposed isolation does to him?” she asked rhetorically; Torres nodded silently. “She has her own reasons for that and knowing her, they’re good ones--at least in her own mind. I mean, have you seriously thought about what happens if we’re still out here in fifteen or twenty years and you have to give an order--or worse, give Miral orders that put her in danger?”

 

B’Elanna blanched; she hadn’t thought that far ahead.

 

“Believe me, I’ve thought about it--woken up with nightmares because of it,” Sam admitted. “There are nights when I just sit on Naomi’s bed watching her sleep, needing to know that she’s safe and wondering if I did the right thing by having her on this ship. Janeway’s captain twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week; she’s already too close to this crew. I know we wish that she would allow us to get closer, but I think that she’s afraid that _she_ couldn’t survive it; she certainly couldn’t at the beginning when she needed to focus on this journey. But can you imagine captains like Picard, Ruttonshaw or Philida Vasquez hand-sewing a blanket for your baby? Or taking the time to make your daughter feel like a part of the community by making her the Captain’s Assistant?

 

“I think that she feels that if she gets any closer, she risks what happened to Ransom,” Sam continued and B’Elanna’s eyes widened in comprehension. “Personally I believe that she’d be fine with that level of intimacy, but I’m not the one in her position.”

 

“Tom thinks that her relationship with Jaffen on Quarra may have precipitated things,” B’Elanna said quietly. Sam nodded; that horror-show of a planet had certainly given her enough nightmares. “That after seeing Kathryn the woman again, Chakotay felt that he was wasting time waiting, because once back on the ship, _Captain_ Janeway would never let Kathryn have a relationship with him.”

 

Samantha glowered. “And he may be right,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, I think that Chakotay has every right to move on, but did he have to do it with the one person on board Janeway considers her daughter?”

 

B’Elanna’s jaw dropped in shock, but as she thought about Sam’s blunt statement, she realised that it was one of the reasons she refused to entertain the idea when Tom first brought it up.

 

“Think about it B’Elanna,” Sam continued. “Who is the one person on this ship she’s walked through fire again and again for, refused to give up on--even when _Chakotay_ himself wanted to space the bitch! Who the hell did she put her head in the lion’s mouth to help more than once? She might have spewed rhetoric about dealing a blow to the Borg by liberating the drones from Unimatrix Zero--she might have even believed it herself, but when it comes right down to it, she did it for Seven! It’s as simple and as complicated as that.”

 

“And it suggests a lot of undercurrents in this relationship that aren’t very nice,” B’Elanna said unhappily. “Before this, I would have said that Chakotay got along with Seven about as well as I did. And I keep wondering why Seven chose him, because as far as Tom can tell, she instigated it.”

 

“But he isn’t saying no,” Samantha said quietly.

 

“He isn’t saying no,” B’Elanna affirmed.

 

#

 

“Gentlemen, come in.” Kathryn invited Chakotay and Tuvok to join her in the sitting area of her ready room. “Anything to drink?” she asked politely as she moved to the replicator.

 

Chakotay shook his head. “Nothing for me Captain,” he said, but was surprised to hear Tuvok say “spiced tea”. The Vulcan was usually the one who shunned beverages. Chakotay suspected he felt that beverages and small talk detracted from the dignity of a meeting, although it was just the three of them.

 

“. . . to keep up morale,” Kathryn was saying, jolting Chakotay back to the conversation as she returned from the replicator and handed Tuvok his tea before sitting down to sip her coffee. “To that end, I’ve given Chell permission to throw a Neelix-style party,” she said, eyes dancing over the rim of her cup. “You will see to it that he hasn’t inherited Neelix’s tendency to go overboard, won’t you, Chakotay?”

 

He started to return her smile. Then she said his name in that husky, intimate way that promised more than she was ever willing to deliver and it irritated him suddenly. “Yes, Captain,” he replied, reining in his spurt of anger.

 

The sudden clouds in her eyes told him she’d picked up on his abrupt change in mood.

 

“I’ll talk to him right away,” he finished, feeling strangely deflated.

 

“The other thing I wanted to talk about were promotions--” she continued.

 

Again Chakotay stopped and stared at her in shock. She was thinking of promotions at a time like this?

 

“Since Starfleet has been dragging its heels getting back to us regarding those crewmembers we put forward for promotion a couple of months ago--could have something to do with our recent change of address,” she quipped and Chakotay couldn’t help but smile this time. “Anyway, in lieu of their oversight, I’ve decided to go ahead with the promotions. I want you both to go over your original lists and check if there are any names you want to add.”

 

“Understood,” Chakotay replied.

 

“Captain, do you think now is the proper time to address the subject or to have a party for that matter?” Tuvok queried. “It has been only ten days. Stopping work for this party would put us behind schedule by a significant margin.”

 

The smile left her face as she rose and went to the viewport. “I think now is precisely the time to address this subject, Tuvok,” she replied, turning to face them after a moment. “Voyager is in for a major overhaul--we can’t afford much more patchwork and I don’t see any Fleet yards around here, even if I were inclined to trust the natives. The crew needs a sense of moving forward from this setback--I need a sense of moving forward.”

 

This time she surprised even Tuvok with her admission.

 

“They worked non-stop to put the Admiral’s plan-- _my plan_ \--into action, and they’ve been working non-stop since we arrived here. And all the while they’ve been--no, _I’ve_ been looking at this as a failure because we didn’t make it back to the alpha quadrant. But we’ve shaved another 5,000 light years from our journey, and that is an accomplishment to celebrate--something that should be celebrated!”

 

“As you wish, Captain,” Tuvok acquiesced.

 

#

 

She was spending too much time wallowing in self-pity, Kathryn decided, gazing critically at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Life goes on whether or not Kathryn Janeway is happy and if she was unhappy, she only had herself to blame.

 

Kathryn grimaced at the sight of her ribs and prominent hipbones. Letting her body get into such a wasted state was not only self-indulgent, it was stupid. She was old enough to know where her demons of depression and self-loathing lay in uneasy sleep. Old enough to know exactly what all her little self-destructive habits originated from and it was time to do something about them.

 

She missed Chakotay, his wheedling her to eat better, to take much-needed time for and better care of herself--because no matter how much she fought him, it had let her know that he cared. And she also knew that her rapid weight-loss since she found out about his relationship with Seven stemmed from this. She was being manipulative again--using her physical state to attract his attention and it was _pathetic_ , she thought viciously. Pathetic and needy. Chakotay and Seven had made their own decisions.

 

She felt her heart constrict as she remembered his words to Seven in Astrometrics; they played over and over in her mind as if on an endless loop.

 

 _“She has nothing to do with us, Seven,”_ he had said as he cupped her face in his hands--an almost unbearably intimate act for Kathryn to witness. _“She’s a friend and a colleague--nothing more.”_

 

She’d realised right away as she walked into Astrometrics and met her protégé’s haughty gaze that Seven was manipulating the situation. Chakotay, with his back to the door, hadn’t known that she was there, but Kathryn recognised the sincerity in his voice. And from the cold way Chakotay now treated her, she wondered if she was even still considered a friend by him.

 

Kathryn sighed. _She_ had made her own decisions.

 

"Now you have to live with those decisions," she told herself firmly, turning from the mirror. She picked up her underwear and proceeded to dress quickly.

 

The armour of her uniform once more in place, she exited the bedroom and immediately went to the replicator. She ordered a bowl of cream of broccoli soup and a mildly spicy Cajun chicken salad sandwich, which she carried over to the coffee table. Sitting on the couch, Kathryn moved Miral’s blanket and her basket of colourful embroidery thread to the other end to get them out of the way. If rumours were true, she’d have to start on a blanket for Ensign Kyoto and Lieutenant Rollins' expected little one fairly soon. Kathryn didn't have much of an appetite, but she forced herself into the half-forgotten rhythms of simply bringing her spoon to her mouth, then down into the soup again. Thinking about it would only cause her to find the food unappetising and start the cycle all over again. Within a few minutes, the bowl was empty and she was working on the sandwich. Her door chimed.

 

"Come," she called.

 

Chakotay entered and her heart soared--for a moment it was like old times, when he would come to escort her to parties, talent night or diplomatic functions. Then the small box in his hands registered and she ruthlessly doused that small flame of hope. Inside the box would be an array of smaller boxes containing new pips and rank bars. That was all. That she had no right to hope anymore hit her like a pail of ice water in the face.

 

As all this raced through her mind, she lifted her gaze to his face and caught him looking at her strangely--as if he were looking through her. "Chakotay?" she said and when he didn't respond, she called more forcefully, "Commander!"

 

He shook his head visibly and seemed to really register her for the first time. "Sorry Captain," he said with an almost pained smile. "Just wool-gathering." He handed her the box.

 

"Thank you," she said and noticed his gaze had shifted to the empty bowl. "I skipped lunch today," she said, feeling a sudden need to explain. "And I never seem to manage more than a couple of hors d'oeuvres at these things."

 

"Well, I'll leave you to your meal, Captain," he said.

 

She was going to nod quietly and leave it at that, but her tongue seemed to have a mind of its own. She had to try.

 

"Chakotay, have I been such a bad friend that you feel you can no longer call me Kathryn?" she asked gently.

 

His face solidified into a mask. "Were we friends?" he asked flatly and she shrank back as if from a physical blow. "Were we ever friends, Captain? I'm beginning to wonder about that. I know that for years we had something I thought of as a friendship, but I realised that was only because you said it was one, but was it really?"

 

She set her sandwich on the plate and placed the box she'd been cradling in her lap down on the table before she rose. "I sorry you feel that way, Chakotay," she apologised, folding her arms across her chest; her heart felt like it would explode. "I'm sorry I _made_ you feel that way. For what it's worth, I always thought you were my friend and I'm sorry if I was not always a good one to you."

 

He turned away and she thought he was going to walk out. He stopped, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "Look," he said, turning to face her again. "I doubt this is the time for this discussion. So let’s just go out there, present the command team--you'll give your speech about hope and getting back to the alpha quadrant and I'll do my part. All right?"

 

All she could do was nod mutely. He turned on his heel and left without another word.

 

She stood staring at the door for a long moment, before returning her gaze to her half-eaten sandwich. She glanced at the chronometer on her desk across the room--19:37 hours. The festivities didn't start until 20:00; there was still time. She sat down on the couch again, picked up the rest of her sandwich and slowly began to eat.

 

#

 

Janeway stood, gently tapping her glass with a spoon. "After that ah-- _interesting_ meal, courtesy of Mr. Chell, I think we should get to the part of the evening we've all been waiting for." There was a general rumble of laughter in the mess hall. "But before you head off to the holodeck and Mr. Paris' no-doubt, highly entertaining activities, I would like you all to join me in paying honour where honour is due."

 

The crew looked at her curiously, expectantly.

 

"Computer, record Captain’s Log Supplemental: Stardate 55139.9. Crewpersons Celes Tal, Gerron Esrad, Mortimer Harren and Ombagi U'Lanai, please rise and step forward."

 

B’Elanna squeezed Tom’s hand while they watched the ceremony. As the crewmen faced their friends and comrades, B'Elanna could see their shock--the absolute disbelief on Tal’s face and Harren’s "doe-in-the-headlights" expression were priceless. Janeway could certainly pull the rug out from under people with style, she thought humorously.

 

"By the power invested in me as Captain of USS _Voyager_ , for your service to this ship, I hereby promote you each to the rank of Ensign, with all the powers and privileges of that rank."

 

Janeway pinned the little stud on the collar of each of their uniforms and congratulated them with warm handshakes. As the newly minted ensigns sat down again, Janeway faced the crew once more.

 

"Ensigns Brian Ashmore, Jennifer Delaney, Megan Delaney, Golwat, Harry Kim, Tomas Mendez, Anita Powell, Vorik and Samantha Wildman, please step forward." Again, Torres could see the surprise and the enormous pride in their eyes as they stood and received their new Lieutenant pips and rank bars from the Captain, with her congratulations on a job well done.

 

"Finally," Kathryn said quietly, "Would Lieutenants Gabriel Rollins, B'Elanna Torres, Ursula Weiss and Yortig, rise and step forward." Torres clapped heartily as the next group rose and was puzzled when it seemed like the entire crew turned to stare at her.

 

"Get up B'Elanna," Tom urged as he kissed her. She looked up in astonishment at Janeway's smiling face and rose unsteadily. She didn't hear the words, but swelled with pride as her Captain affixed the new rank bar to her collar--two solid stripes and one open stripe. She had wondered why Tom had insisted that she wear her uniform when technically she was on maternity leave.

 

 _Lieutenant Commander B'Elanna Torres_. It was a lot more than she had ever expected when she’d boarded this ship seven years before with little else but the clothes on her back and the ideas chasing each other around in her mind--so much more.

 

As the formalities drew to a close, Tom threw his arms around her, kissing her passionately. B'Elanna looked into her husband's eyes and saw only his love.

 

#

 

Seven looked around her new--very bare--quarters in annoyance. In many ways she was excited about it--Icheb had certainly been excited about his. She had been planning to ask for more privacy than the cargo bay afforded, but having them thrust on her by Janeway had made the experience thoroughly unsatisfying.

 

The Captain had asked her to remain in the briefing room after the morning meeting. Seven had thought that Janeway wanted to discuss _Voyager’s_ failure to re-establish contact with the alpha quadrant. It turned out she had been correct in her estimation of Icheb’s abilities. She had only that morning reported that further analysis of the early scans the boy had done clearly showed that he’d missed the broadcast three times within the first four days of scanning because he simply wasn’t experienced enough to recognise the Starfleet patterns through all the noise of subspace.

 

At that point, Paris had pointed out with that supercilious grin of his that it had taken her over five weeks of analysis to recognise the signal herself and that they really couldn’t blame Icheb for missing a couple of seconds worth of distorted, degraded signal against the background noise. With Chakotay off on a scouting trip, she’d had no one to talk to for the last two weeks and Paris’ comments were getting tiresome. She was having difficulty keeping her temper. But Janeway had immediately agreed with the pilot and tabled further discussion regarding contacting her precious Starfleet.

 

“The Doctor tells me that you won’t need to regenerate so often anymore.”

 

The Captain’s statement had taken her by complete surprise and for one dreadful moment, Seven thought that the holographic physician had broken his oath and told Janeway that he’d altered her cortical node’s failsafe circuitry to give her access to a wider range of emotions. But she was certain that she’d impressed on him that she had as much right to medical privacy as the rest of the crew. Therefore, he had as much right to tell the Captain as he had to tell her about another crewmember’s therapy for sexual dysfunction for example (she’d found that bringing up sexual topics was the best way to ensure most humans would shut up and accord her some privacy). And torn between his concern that she was doing the right thing and his ethical subroutines, he’d reluctantly agreed. Sometimes human _moral codes_ and all their trappings had their uses.

 

“That is correct, Captain,” she’d replied coldly.

 

“Excellent,” Janeway said and Seven looked at her, wondering what she was leading up to. “I know that we’ve discussed this before and you preferred to stay in the cargo bay, but I think it’s time for you to move into quarters of your own.” As Seven opened her mouth reflexively to protest, Janeway held up her right hand. “The Doctor said that although you won’t need to regenerate often, you will need to _sleep_ more often since more of your human physiology continues to assert itself. In fact, he informs me that continuing to regenerate on the schedule you’ve been keeping would be more detrimental to your remaining implants than beneficial.”

 

The Captain picked up a PADD and held it out to her. “Go and take a look at it, then browse the schematics to see which room configuration you like best. Once you’ve decided, let Maintenance know and they can have it ready in a few hours. I’ve also included an updated inventory list of extant furnishings available for use. If there’s nothing you like, you’ll have to use your own replicator rations to produce something more to your tastes.”

 

Seven ignored Janeway’s outstretched hand, annoyed at being dictated to. “There is no need,” she replied. “I will simply regenerate less.”

 

Janeway sat on the edge of the briefing room table and studied her for a long, silent moment, her face inscrutable. She held out the PADD again. “But the flip-side of this is that you will need to sleep more. As you’re no doubt finding out, this more human body comes with quite a few benefits, but you’ll soon find out that those benefits come with a price and part of that price is the need to sleep for as many hours as _it_ deems necessary. And if you don’t give it at least it’s minimum requirements, your body will make you pay sooner or later--and not always with a benign warning of dark circles around your eyes,” she said giving a slightly crooked smile that made Seven uncomfortable.

 

“What do you mean?” Seven demanded irritably and not without some trepidation. She’d noted the skin discoloration with concern in the last two days and was going to ask the Doctor about it later when she had some free time.

 

Janeway’s smile widened and she ran one groomed finger along Seven’s cheek beneath her right eye. Seven flinched back.

 

“That bruising means that you’re fatigued,” the Captain said withdrawing the offending digit. “Furthermore, your cognitive faculties will begin to suffer if you don’t sleep and no amount of regeneration in your alcove will alleviate it. Only taking time to sleep and dream will ensure you remain in proper mental health.”

 

She dropped the PADD into Seven’s lap and stood up. “Dismissed,” she said firmly.

 

Seven had risen without thinking, clutching the PADD tightly and was halfway to the door when she realised that she was obeying without protest. She stumbled to a stop in front of the door, which opened silently in response to her presence. She had no choice but to continue. Taking a deep breath, she stalked to the turbolift and waited rigidly for it to come--all the while feeling like everyone on the bridge was watching her.

 

Shaking her head free of the uncomfortable memory, Seven gazed around her sparely furnished living room again. Lieutenant Mendez had indicated that there were a number of couches and chairs in storage to choose from that would compliment the room’s two existing chairs and low coffee table. She had told him she would think about it.

 

The chiming of the door announcer startled her; her reaction to it annoyed her. Bringing her emotions under control she called, “Come in.”

 

Chakotay strode in. He looked around curiously. “Nice digs,” he said, a smile hovering on his lips. She raised one eyebrow in askance; he chuckled and amended his statement. “Nice quarters.”

 

“They are the same as most quarters on the ship,” she pointed out.

 

“But now they belong to you,” he replied, moving closer to her. She stepped into his waiting arms. “And I think that makes them extra nice,” he continued before pulling her close and kissing her.

 

Pleasure flared deep within her and she kissed him back hungrily. “I thought that you weren’t supposed to be back for another 48 hours,” she said when they came up for air.

 

“There’s a massive plasma storm building just beyond the Bretori Federation,” he replied. “ _Voyager_ won’t be able to cross that space for another four to six weeks, but Bretorin is a good place to re-supply while we wait for the subspace disruptions caused by the storm to dissipate. Anyway, I hear that the Doctor thinks that you won’t have to regenerate so much anymore,” he said letting go of her.

 

She nodded, frowning as she walked to the viewport. “He says that a schedule of once each week should be enough to maintain my remaining implants,” she replied. “The Captain felt it necessary to order me to vacate the cargo bay.”

 

“Perhaps it’s best,” Chakotay said. “You must admit, the cargo bay isn’t very private.”

 

Seven felt a sudden spurt of anger at his soft words. “Why do you always take _her_ side?” she demanded, turning to face him.

 

Chakotay stared at her, surprised at her anger. “I’m not taking anyone’s _side_ ,” he replied. “I’m just stating facts and the cargo bay isn’t a very private place. Seven, what’s really wrong?”

 

She turned away again. “I don’t know,” she said, feeling his proximity as he moved closer. Not for the first time, Seven wondered if he still cared for Janeway--if he was still in love with her.

 

And not for the first time, the very thought of it made her horribly angry--perhaps this was jealousy. Except what did she have to feel jealous about? She was a more suitable mate for Chakotay than Janeway was; a younger, fitter--and by most human standards she could judge--more beautiful mate. Far superior to Kathryn Janeway.

 

“She didn’t even give me time to think about it--just ordered me to move,” she said angrily.

 

Chakotay frowned. “Perhaps she could have given you a little more time to get used to it,” he conceded. “But you would have had to move sooner or later. Give yourself some time, Seven. Tell me, is this really so bad?” he asked waving around the room.

 

“No, I guess I have outgrown the cargo bay,” she said and wondered why his frown deepened at her answer.

 

#

 

Kathryn studied the three large, ungainly ships on the viewscreen tiredly. “Commander?” she prompted. Only two days out from the system where they’d conducted repairs and they’d run into these clowns demanding--of all things--that _Voyager_ pay a _toll_!

 

“From our intelligence gathered up ahead in the Bretori Federation, these Dregardrak are nothing but money-hungry bullies, plain and simple,” he replied. “They seem to be cousins to the Ferengi--out to make a dollar where they can by stealing, intimidation or extortion. But occasionally they can be much worse, preying on technologically weaker ships and on ships travelling alone. On the bright side, their warp technology is more than a century behind _Voyager_ and their ships are incapable of sustaining warp seven for more than a few minutes. However, they have laid claim to most of this sector, although from what I can tell, the Bretori and the Clatu pretty much take what they want, when they want. According to the Bretori, Dregardrak boarders are rather elastic.”

 

“Thanks Commander.” Janeway quirked a smile and stood up. “Harry, open a channel.”

 

“Channel open, Captain.”

 

“This is Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship _Voyager_ , whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

 

A furry face with large, doleful brown eyes, a pronounced snout and mouthful of sharp, pointed teeth appeared onscreen. He sniffed the air and his ears shot up to a point as he regarded Janeway. “What do you want?” he barked.

 

Kathryn had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. _Oh sweet Jesus_ , she thought hysterically, looking into the doggie face, _he barks!_ She wanted to pet him, but she got the feeling that petting was the last thing this alien had on his mind.

 

Taking a deep breath she managed to keep a straight face as she answered, “My ship is on its way to the Bretori Federation and we wish to cross Dregardrak space to get there. May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

 

“Gedrrrek of Blood Pack _Harrrrrok_!” he barked again. “What business do you have with those _Bretorrri_ parasites?”

 

“That is our business,” Kathryn replied, banishing her mirth at his challenge. “We wish to pay the toll to cross Dregardrak space and be on our way.”

 

The Dragardrak bared his teeth with a fearsome growl. “The toll is fifty _brreks_ of kalcite ore.”

 

Kathryn looked at him in shock, and then made a chopping motion to Harry, who cut the transmission. She turned to Chakotay in disbelief. He smiled. “That’s about roughly five kilograms of kalcite, Captain,” he said in amusement.

 

“But that’s space junk--you can find it in practically any piece of space rock or planetoid, Captain!” Harry sputtered in outrage and Paris laughed heartily.

 

“Harry, Harry, Harry. How many times do I have to tell you; one man’s junk is another man’s treasure,” Paris drawled.

 

Kathryn regarded Chakotay and shook her head. “I thought you’d get a kick out of it,” he said with a shrug. “According to the Bretori, their toll changes every so often--this month it appears to be kalcite. Apparently they didn’t get into space on their own, but stole the technology from another species that crashed on their planet about two and a half centuries ago. Much of their technology is based on what they can beg, borrow or steal. They’re not very interested in developing things for themselves.”

 

“I see,” Kathryn replied. She sat down again in her command chair and crossed her legs. “All right Harry, on screen.” The pugnacious alien appeared once more. “Fifty brek is quite a bit, Gedrek,” she said thoughtfully.

 

“There will be no negotiations!” he returned forcefully. “Fifty brrekkk!”

 

Kathryn sighed, with manifest unwillingness to pay such a _high_ price. “Are you sure we can’t negotiate?” she wheedled.

 

Gedrek growled and she nearly collapsed with laughter as he barked “No!”

 

“All right . . . all right--fifty!” she replied in mock defeat.

 

“Prepare to be boarded for inspection of the ore!” he growled officiously and cut transmission.

 

Giggles burbled in her throat and she waggled an admonishing finger at Chakotay. “You could have warned me, Chakotay!” she howled, shaking with laughter.

 

“And miss the expression on your face?” he laughed. “Anyway Captain, I seem to remember that you were a “dog” person?” The bridge broke into a gale of laughter with him.

 

“That’s not fair!” Kathryn complained between giggles as she held her aching sides. After a few moments, she brought herself back under control. She reached out and gently patted his hand before rising. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely meeting his gaze. A look of realisation ghosted through his eyes as he looked down at her hand on his. She withdrew it and quickly retreated to her ready room calling orders as she went. “Tuvok, escort our guests to the briefing room when they arrive. And it might be a good idea to deactivate their weapons if you can.”

 

“Aye Captain,” her Vulcan friend replied as the doors closed behind her.

 

Kathryn sat down on the couch and looked out at the stars. The frozen look in Chakotay’s eyes as he realised he was joking with her like an old friend again, burned with the cold pain of an icicle piercing her heart. It was as if he couldn’t forgive her enough to even simply joke with her. Every time she thought they’d made some progress towards healing this breach between them, he pulled away and it was worse with Seven.

 

She’d thought that the young woman would be glad for the new quarters--the privacy it afforded. She’d thought that the Doctor’s report that the former Borg needed to start sleeping more and regenerating less explained the young woman’s sudden bouts of irritability and anger. But Seven was even angrier with her now than she’d ever been and her increasingly uncontrollable outbursts concerned Kathryn.

 

Unable to sleep the night before, Kathryn had gone on one of her midnight rambles, and like the ponics bay, she’d been drawn to the cargo bay by thoughts she didn’t want to face. Drawn by thoughts of Kes, the daughter she'd dared not keep, and by Seven, the daughter she'd dared to keep.

 

 _“You think you can hide us where no one will see and know he’s mine!”_ Seven had sneered when Kathryn met her by accident in the cargo bay. _“But he’s mine in every way and when I am ready, everyone will know!”_

 

She’d recognised immediately, the jealous adolescent beneath the raging woman and there was nothing she could do but stand there and take it. Four years ago she’d been looking for someone to fill an empty space she didn’t know she had until Kes left. Now she was paying the consequences.

 

 _Perhaps it’s just as well that I didn’t have any children_ , she thought wretchedly. Kes had returned, determined to kill her, while Seven hated the mere sight of her and seemed determined to hurt her in the most painful ways possible.

 

 _Not a very good track record, Kathryn_. She gave a bitter-sounding laugh even as tears began to flow down her face, _no more daughter-surrogates for you, Captain_.

 

#

 

Gedrek was practically panting over the small sample of kalcite ore as his subordinate carefully tested the purity of the substance. He had insisted on meeting _Voyager’s_ Captain with an equal number of his own officers. Besides the terrier-like scientist, three large security guards resembling overgrown mastiffs had accompanied Gedrek in one of their barely space-worthy shuttles.

 

Kathryn studied the five large “doggish” aliens with a small, bemused smile. Obviously descended from some sort of canid, the Dregardrak had a few traits that would have given them an advantage over the average dog--a nice set of nimble fingers for starters. A large brain and the move to a more bipedal stance, though rather hunched over, would have put them far ahead of other canine families on their world, the way it had given humans advantages over other primates.

 

“Pure,” Carrgak yapped softly in amazement as he showed his instrument to Gedrek. “Absolutely pure!”

 

“You won’t find any purer,” Kathryn replied confidently. “I hope it is to your satisfaction, Gedrek.”

 

“It is,” the alien answered with a feral grin. “And now we will relieve you of all of it!” The Dregardrak guards pulled their weapons and aimed at Janeway, while Tuvok, Ayala and U’Lanai pulled their phasers.

 

Kathryn smiled at Chakotay sitting next to her. “Do you think we’ll ever meet a species in this God-forsaken quadrant that won’t pull some kind of weapon on us?” she asked in exasperation.

 

“I hear that the Bretori are very reasonable,” he replied.

 

“I claim this ship for the glory of the Dregardrak Empire!” Gedrek roared. A small, snub-nosed weapon, different from the large, clumsy energy rifles his guards carried, appeared in his hand like a conjurer’s trick.

 

“Look, Gedrek,” Kathryn said coldly. “Put those weapons away and we might just let you leave with your toll.”

 

“Your ship is outnumbered three to one,” he said triumphantly. “And another two ships are but a few _mostrrrak_ away. Surrender your ship now and I will consider sending your crew to the Codrakkark mines.”

 

“How magnanimous,” Kathryn drawled.

 

“Gedrrrekkk! Our weapons!” howled one of his guards.

 

Gedrek snarled and fired at Kathryn, but Tuvok was faster, stepping in front of her and taking the brunt of the blast while firing his own phaser. Gedrek went down under Tuvok’s fire as the alien guards charged Ayala and U’Lanai.

 

Kathryn dove towards Tuvok’s body lying prone on the deck and began to check his vitals while Chakotay shouted for Harry to beam the aliens back to their ship.

 

Two of the guards went down under Security’s phaser assault and the aliens’ battle howls became cries of dismay as they found themselves dissolving before their very eyes, but Kathryn had no time to pay attention to them.

 

“Janeway to Sickbay, emergency transport of Commander Tuvok and myself.”

 

She met Chakotay’s gaze. “I’ll take care of the ship,” he promised as the briefing room dissolved around her.

 

“What happened?” the Doctor demanded.

 

“I don’t know,” Kathryn replied, helping him get Tuvok’s body onto a biobed. “Their weapons were supposed to be deactivated as soon as their shuttlecraft entered the shuttle bay.”

 

The Doctor frowned. “This looks like something akin to a Romulan disrupter or a neural whip.” He turned to Wildman. “Ten micro litres of neuresthamine,” he ordered. “And I need you to synthesise a week’s supply of Vulcan tri-ox.”

 

“Right away, Doctor,” she replied, quickly entering her commands into the medical replicator. She handed him the instrument that appeared a moment later, then hurried into the med-lab to synthesise the tri-ox.

 

The Doctor quickly dispensed the contents of the hypospray into Tuvok’s neck. Tuvok’s eyes snapped open and he gasped, a painful groan escaping his lips as he tried to sit up.

 

“Oh no you don’t!” the Doctor said pushing him back down. “You’re _not_ going anywhere. A little more power to that disrupter and that blast would have turned your central nervous system to hash. Lie still or I’ll activate the bed’s field restraints,” he threatened.

 

Tuvok turned his gaze to Kathryn and she could see pain in his eyes. “Captain,” he whispered hoarsely. She leaned in close so he would not have to strain his voice, but she knew what he was going to say; she knew the reason he’d stepped in front of that killing blast as soon as he’d seen Gedrek’s snub-nosed weapon. “I forgot to check for disrupter signatures.”

 

She nodded; another lapse in memory and judgement. “It’s all right, Tuvok,” she said quietly. “Rest now.”

 

She met the Doctor’s eyes as he dispensed another hypospray and Tuvok’s eyes fluttered shut. “Could the neuro-stabiliser be losing its efficacy so soon, Doctor?” she asked bluntly, afraid of his answer.

 

“It shouldn’t be,” he replied regarding Tuvok with a puzzled look. “It’s the standard treatment for this condition. I shouldn’t have to be adjusting the dosages this quickly--he shouldn’t start deteriorating noticeably for another four or five years. I’ll have to study this further.” He looked at her speculatively. “Captain, I know this may violate the Temporal Prime Directive, but did Admiral Janeway say anything to you about this condition?”

 

Her lips twisted bitterly at the mention of her future self. “I wish she had, Doctor and damned the Temporal Prime Directive!” she replied with regret. “All she would say was that Tuvok had this condition and that there was a cure in the alpha quadrant, but by the time _Voyager_ got back, it was too late for him.”

 

She found compassion in the holographic man’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Captain,” he said. “I still have a few options I need to investigate further. I’ll do my best for him.”

 

“I know you will, Doctor,” she replied, squeezing his shoulder gently. “Keep me informed.”

 

“Yes, Captain,” he said and she left sickbay lost in her thoughts.

 

#

 


	3. Journey to Ran’Torak

The bridge shook around Kathryn, but with the shields holding at 85%, there wasn’t any need to even consider deploying the new armour. The only problem was that when Chakotay had ordered phasers used, the weapons’ couplings had failed after only a few shots. Chakotay had gone down to Weapons Control to check with Rollins on the problem.

 

On top of that, Engineering had been conducting warp core maintenance that kept them from going above warp six.

 

“I hate being hen-pecked,” Kathryn muttered irritably. The Dregardrak were being a nuisance and if they hit anything by accident, it would be a miracle. But miracles happened and she wanted to get as much distance between _Voyager_ and this region of space as soon as possible. They weren’t in any immediate danger and she’d held off using the ship’s limited supply of torpedoes, but at the moment, she wanted nothing more than to ram a couple volleys down their throats.

 

She rose from her seat and faced Ayala. “Lieutenant?”

 

“Sorry Captain,” he replied. “It’s going to take weapons teams at least an hour to get the couplings replaced and calibrated. It appears that the last alignment calibration was left half-done and caused a cascade failure in the couplings.” His eyes were puzzled as he continued. “But for some reason, we show a diagnostic was completed on work that was never done.”

 

Kathryn’s heart sank and she had to fight to keep the dismay from her expression. Another of Tuvok’s lapses in memory, not to mention judgement and she didn’t even want to _think_ about how he’d shoe-horned the diagnostic to show an all clear. Damn, at this rate she wouldn’t be able to keep his condition a secret much longer or keep her old friend in his position. It couldn’t be happening this fast!

 

“Tell Mr. Rollins to get it done as quickly as possible--”

 

“Engineering to the bridge,” Nicoletti’s call interrupted.

 

“Janeway here,” she replied. “I could use some good news, Lieutenant.”

 

“Captain, the core maintenance cycle is completed and all the interlocks have been purged of warp particles,” the acting Chief Engineer reported. “It’s now safe to take her up to warp 8 for the next six hours of the performance trials.”

 

“Understood,” Kathryn replied in relief. “Excellent work, Lieutenant.”

 

“Thank you, Captain. Nicoletti out.”

 

“You heard the lady, Mr. Paris,” she said. “Get us the hell out of here.”

 

“Aye, aye, Ma’am!” Paris replied impudently and Kathryn had to smile. “Going to warp seven . . . warp seven point five . . . warp eight!” he said triumphantly a few moments later as the Dregardrak ships dwindled rapidly behind them. “Mr. Gedrek, eat our space dust!”

 

Kathryn chuckled tiredly and turned back to Ayala. “Lieutenant Ayala, you have the bridge,” she said and he nodded formally, stepped out from behind the Tactical station and moved down to the Command area.

 

“Aye, aye, Captain, I have the bridge,” he replied.

 

Kathryn spared him a smile and moved quickly to the turbolift. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she was at her door entering her pass codes before she realised it. Someone gave a discrete cough behind her and she turned to face Ensign Ombagi U’Lanai. The young, dark-skinned security officer was one quarter Vulcan, if Kathryn remembered correctly, and it showed in her elegantly pointed ears and upswept eyebrows.

 

“Ensign U’Lanai,” she said formally as her door opened and she gestured for the young woman to precede her. The lights came up automatically. “How may I help you, Ensign?” she asked, leading her over to the sitting area. She was bone tired, but she couldn’t allow it show.

 

The young woman looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Captain,” she said quietly. “But I felt I should speak to you about Lieutenant Commander Tuvok.”

 

Kathryn’s eyes widened as she regarded U’Lanai’s intelligent chocolate brown eyes. “What about Commander Tuvok?” she asked, but she knew already that if anyone noticed Tuvok’s lapses, it would be another Vulcan.

 

“What was the Doctor’s diagnosis of the Commander?” she asked bluntly. “ _Voh-katra-roq_?”

 

Again Kathryn regarded her in surprise, but although she was loathe to discuss Tuvok’s private business, she realised that U’Lanai could have helpful information. “That’s correct,” she confirmed. "The doctor believes that it was brought on by our kidnapping and reprogramming on Quarra--not to mention Teero's brainwashing.”

 

The woman gazed down at her hands thoughtfully. “I thought it might be,” she said. She met Kathryn’s gaze again. “When he first started showing the signs, I’d hoped it would only be that because at least there would be sufficient time--at least five, even ten years--in which the Doctor could search for a cure or we’d make it home before the deterioration became noticeable.”

 

“You hoped it would _only_ be that?” Kathryn echoed in confusion.

 

“Yes Captain,” she replied. “But with such rapid deterioration of his faculties, I’m fairly sure now that the Doctor has made the wrong diagnosis--”

 

Kathryn gripped the hand rests of her chair, white-knuckled. “ _What_!” she demanded.

 

U’Lanai smiled ruefully and it softened her stern, angular face. “What’s more, given that Tuvok _is_ a Vulcan male, once the Doctor came up with that diagnosis seemingly matching his symptoms, Tuvok would have encouraged it.”

 

Janeway gaped at her in disbelief. “You’re telling me that Tuvok deliberately misled the Doctor regarding a condition that could destroy his _mind_!” she shouted.

 

“Ah . . . something like that, Captain--”

 

“I’ll kill him!” Kathryn fumed.

 

This time U’Lanai laughed heartily and Kathryn’s anger turned to surprise again; she was so used to seeing the ensign as a Vulcan, she often forgot that the young woman was three quarters human.

 

“Captain, _he_ wouldn’t have seen it that way,” the young woman clarified. “To Tuvok’s thinking, in his own infinitely logical way, he was just keeping certain things private.”

 

Kathryn bit her tongue and nodded for U’Lanai to continue.

 

“The brainwashing assaults on him probably didn't help matters, but I don't believe they’re the root cause. My Vulcan great-grandmother once told me something that didn’t make much sense until I grew up. I was upset and jealous of my mostly male Vulcan cousins, who always seemed so calm and logical--and _always_ seemed to be mocking me for my lack of emotional control.” Her grin widened. “But one day, T’Mari sat me down and explained that it was a failing common to males of most humanoid species especially that they take things to extremes. Klingon males take aggression and honour in battle to the extreme--Romulans, paranoia and distrust, while for Vulcans--”

 

“It’s logic and emotional control,” Kathryn finished flatly, feeling as if she’d been run over by the proverbial Ferengi transport.

 

“Yes, Captain. However, many Vulcan females don’t go through an intense _pon-farr_ the way males do--” She laughed again at Kathryn’s surprised face. “In fact, on average they’re less subject to a lot of the imbalances and metabolic malfunctions to which Vulcan males are prone. They also have a very healthy, albeit Vulcan, take on sexuality at its most basic--sort of a practical, naturalistic application of logic. After my grandmother, Helene--who was my grandfather Moruk’s second wife--died unexpectedly at the age of 67, my grandfather illogically refused to take another wife. Perhaps if she hadn’t died less than a year before his _pon-farr_ things might have been different. However, Moruk chose to go through his _pon-farr_ using meditation and subsequently developed _voh-ka-t'fei_ , which can manifest symptoms that’s often mistaken for _voh-katra-roq_ , except that the grace period is mere months instead of years. If a patient lasts more than a year after the symptoms begin to develop, he’s very lucky.”

 

“But I know that Tuvok has used meditation successfully before in a similar situation and this time he had the help of the holodeck,” Kathryn said quietly as she tried to deal with the bombshell U’Lanai had literally dropped in her lap.

 

The young woman shook her head. “Captain, unless a Vulcan is a priest or at the very least a first level meditative adept, meditation during _pon-farr_ is simply a stop-gap measure,” she said urgently, capturing Kathryn’s attention again. “Furthermore, holograms have no minds or emotions to connect with. _Voh-ka-t'fei_ occurs when _plak-tow_ is not satisfactorily resolved and I’ll bet that Tuvok was able to get home to T’Pel in less than a year the last time he’d had to make do with meditation.”

 

Kathryn nodded and the young woman continued. “T’Pel would have then mind-meld with him and subsequently taken care of his needs.” U’Lanai looked discomfited again under Kathryn’s scrutiny. “In fact, meditation as a way to deal with _pon-farr_ is not recommended for males who’ve been married more than fifty or sixty years, no matter how adept they are at it because this is usually the outcome.”

 

“But how does any of this help Tuvok here and now?” Kathryn demanded. “Whether it’s _voh-ka-t'fei_ or _voh-katra-roq_ , the outcome is the same--except according to you, he’ll go mad even sooner. My problem is the same; I can’t get him home to his family in time!”

 

“His wife,” U’Lanai corrected. “Since the root problem is sexual, the _fal-tor-voh_ must be performed by T’Pel or--”

 

“Or?” Kathryn echoed, holding the other woman’s gaze.

 

“Or someone Tuvok is close enough to that he’ll accept her in the role of his wife,” she said quietly without flinching.

 

#

 

“ _Vulcans_!” the Doctor spat in disgust as he studied the information U’Lanai had routed to his station explaining about Tuvok’s condition.

 

“Well?” Kathryn asked as she forced herself to stop pacing his office like a caged tiger.

 

“If Ensign U’Lanai says it’s a possibility, I’ll have to take her word for it,” he said dryly. “The only problem I can see is that the _female_ usually initiates the telepathic link as well as the mind-meld. And if you haven’t noticed, we seem to have a dearth of female telepaths at the moment--what about Ombagi herself?”

 

Kathryn shook her head. “No can do,” she replied, looking out over Tuvok’s still form. “I think she looks at him as rather a father-figure and furthermore, she was friends with his middle son when she was a teenager. It would be too weird for both of them and she doubts that Tuvok would even accept her. Anyway she’s only one quarter Vulcan; her telepathic rating is not that much higher than an average human and it’s certainly nothing near a full Vulcan’s strength.”

 

“Hmmm,” the Doctor said absently.

 

Kathryn looked down at her immaculately polished boots, drumming her fingertips rhythmically on her hipbones before regarding Tuvok again. “Too bad I’m not a telepath,” she said.

 

“You could be--at least temporarily,” the Doctor answered. She stared at him for a long, hard moment, before nodding for him to continue. “There are a number of compounds you could take that would give you a temporary boost in psionic abilities; kironide, psybillan and neurentormaline to name a few.”

 

He pulled up the molecular models of each compound and Kathryn studied them over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t recommend kironide--it has a few side effects that aren’t too nice--telekenesis, rampant megalomania--” He looked up pointedly at her and she glared back at him. He cleared his non-existent throat and continued. “And it inhibits natural humanoid healing. If I had to choose I’d say psybillan-- neurentormaline is not as toxic as kironide, but induces too many personality changes.”

 

He focussed in on the compound he’d chosen, rotating it and studying its properties closely. “Psybillan is based on Betazoid psycho-chemistry. In humans, it mimics the action of one of the Betazoid neurotransmitter responsible for their telepathy. But it must be strictly regulated, as long term use can be habit-forming--”

 

“Believe me, I _don’t_ intend to make this a habit, Doctor,” she said.

 

“Yes, Captain,” he replied looking a bit embarrassed. “Once you’ve established the link, then you’d have to induce him to meld with you and according to Ombagi, you’d then have to act as his guide in re-establishing his sense of self.” He looked at her in concern. “There is the danger of him overwhelming you, of losing yourself in his psyche. I'll have Tuvok on a cortical monitor for the next few days to make sure there isn't any residual damage from the disrupter blast. I'd like you to wear a monitor as well--that way, if I see your brain patterns starting to look like his or becoming unduly erratic, I can stimulate your mind into asserting itself without disturbing your rapport with Mr. Tuvok."

 

Kathryn gave a low, dry chuckle. "Disturbing our rapport--never heard it put quite that way before." The holographic physician threw her a shocked look. "Let's get this over with," she said.

 

It only took a few minutes to synthesise the compound and administer it. "The drug will require about an hour to take effect and these abilities should persist for no more than fifteen hours," he informed her. "Generally they fade after about twelve hours. If this treatment requires a longer period than that, I'll have to administer a second dose."

 

"Doctor, if I can't finish the job in twelve hours, I'm not much of a woman," she quipped.

 

"Captain!" he admonished.

 

She rubbed her suddenly throbbing head. "I know Doc," she said quietly. "But if I don't laugh, I'll cry and I need to get through this."

 

The sympathy in his holographic eyes touched her as he replied softly, respectfully, "Yes, Captain."

 

#

 

Kathryn stood at the viewport in Tuvok's bedroom, watching the silent universe streak past. When the Doctor had informed her that Tuvok was regaining consciousness, she had secretly beamed into his quarters. She reached out now and followed his progress through the corridors of _Voyager_. It was a strange, heady sensation to suddenly have this god-like omniscience and so dangerous.

 

While waiting for Tuvok to wake up and for the first indications that the drug was working, she'd called Chakotay from her quarters and informed him that she'd be taking the next day off. He'd in turn informed her of the Doctor's recommendation that Tuvok be relieved of duty for the next week ostensibly to recover from the disrupter blast.

 

But it was then that she suddenly found herself quite literally inside Chakotay’s head, even as she watched him speaking to her on her viewscreen. It was as if she were in two places at once. She found herself awash in his concern for Tuvok. Suddenly, it was as if his mind changed tracks in mid stream and he flooded her mind with thoughts of herself--

 

. _. . her hair longer . . . framing her face in soft, auburn waves . . . her lips parted . . . swollen . . . hungry, oh so hungry for her . . ._

 

Then ruthlessly, she was thrust from those thoughts as he turned from them--his mind shouting, _"You have no right to be thinking of her like that! Not now! She's made her position perfectly clear and you’ve made your choice--now live with it!"_

 

Again a change of tracks and another image--this time with a halo of smooth platinum hair framing flawless, white skin--took her place.

 

Startled, she had pulled out of his mind and found him staring curiously at her. After assuring him that she was only a little tired, she'd managed the rest of their conversation without dipping into his mind again.

 

And afterward, she'd wanted to curl up and sob in despair at the irony of the whole situation--that she would now give Tuvok what she hadn’t been able to bring herself to give freely to the man she loved.

 

Kathryn felt Tuvok's primal urge and need threaten to overwhelm her as she focussed her thoughts on him again. He was outside his quarters now, fumbling to input his security codes. Reflectively, she relaxed her body and ran one hand over her breasts, stroking them through the rough material of the Vulcan ceremonial robe she'd replicated. At the faint awakening of arousal, she picked up the small goblet she'd placed on the sill of the viewport, turned from the streaking universe and waited for him to come in.

 

Kathryn stood in the corner and watched him enter, tiredly dropping down onto the bed. She could see his internal struggle etched on his face as he wrestled to achieve a meditative state, hands trembling as he brought his fingertips together, and she wondered how he'd made through the corridors of the ship in his condition.

 

Suddenly he flung his hand out and swept the contents of his night table across the room with a growl of frustration. A book bounced off the wall and fell to the ground in front of her. Their eyes locked as she crouched to retrieve it. She felt his shock register in her gut as he looked at her. He rose unsteadily from the bed as she advanced towards him.

 

"Captain?" he whispered.

 

"Yes Tuvok," she answered softly, dropping the book back onto the nightstand.

 

"Captain, please leave," he struggled to get the words out. "I wish to meditate. You should not be here at this time."

 

"I am where I wish to be, Tuvok," she said firmly and pushed against the barrier of his mind. She felt his utter astonishment at her new ability and his primal longing for her.

 

Kathryn held the cup of ceremonial Vulcan wine out to him and focussed her thoughts. _"A measure of love freely given, must be freely accepted. Then friendship again,"_ she projected telepathically. _"And that knows no measure."_

 

He looked at her in anguish and Kathryn felt his resolve falter as his internal battle raged. His eyes focused on the cup. "Why?" he asked hoarsely, reaching for it.

 

 _"A sacred trust,"_ she answered telepathically as their fingertips touched. He took a deep breath and drank. _"Do you accept this gift, Tuvok?"_

 

He began to turn away and she placed a hand on his sleeve. Kathryn watched his struggle as he looked down on her hand. He could not refuse. "Yes," he whispered meeting her gaze.

 

 _"Yes!"_ he reiterated passionately as their minds met.

 

Kathryn took his hand and began to trace the ritual mating patterns between his fingers. She smiled his startled reaction when she placed her other hand on the back of his neck and brought his head down to hers. Going up on her tiptoes, she brought her lips to his with an impish smile and enjoyed the sweet tangle of their tongues as she steered him onto the bed.

 

He sat down and pulled her roughly onto his lap. She felt him harden immediately as she straddled him without breaking eye contact. Another rush of arousal coursed through her and going with her instincts, she leaned hard into him, crushing her naked mound against his engorged erection through the barrier of their clothing.

 

She placed her hands on either side of his face and intensifying her mental push, she called to him. _"Come to me, Tuvok. Come to me!"_

 

Suddenly his hands were on her face in preparation for the mind-meld. She felt the icy burn of his fingertips like drops of liquid nitrogen on her temples as he made contact.

 

"My mind to your mind," he droned and pulled her into him.

 

#

 

The heat of the Vulcan sun seared her skin. They stood on the burning sands together, as close as two people could get without touching. The wind swirled loose sand about them. Kathryn recognised this place--she’d been there once. Tuvok’s family retreat at An’Selyar, an oasis the desert seemed to give up only reluctantly.

 

She watched his face closely and for a moment his love for her burned brighter than the sun. But it wasn’t for her, Kathryn. It was T’Pel he saw in this private place. She waited for him to give her a sign and suddenly, it rose unbidden in her mind what he longed for--that first _pon-farr_ with his new mate in the ancient grotto across the dunes. _Ran’Torak_ \--the caves of his ancestors.

 

Kathryn turned from him in the windswept courtyard and started down the hill from the oasis into the unforgiving desert.

 

 _“Come,”_ she called to him and without looking back to see if he followed, she began the trek to Ran’Torak.

 

It seemed that they walked for hours, her mouth as parched as the desert sand, her throat burning and still she pushed on . . .

 

Then suddenly he was no longer behind her following, but at her side, his arm protectively about her shoulders and they walked on . . .

 

And at the end of eternal dunes--Ran’Torak, hewn from ancient rocks thrust high above the burning sands . . .

 

They began to climb. She heard his laboured breath above the wind . . .

 

 _“Come,”_ she called, leading him into the sand-scoured cave. She sat upon the stone pallet in the centre of the room, feet planted firmly on the ground and legs apart. She waited for him to enter . . .

 

He stood upon the threshold . . .

 

 _“Come,”_ she called to him again and lay back . . .

 

He lay on top of her, but she didn’t feel his weight, nor could she feel the hard stone beneath her. She felt only his desperate need to take what she offered--yet he lay trembling above her.

 

Suddenly she couldn’t tell where Kathryn ended and his projection of T’Pel began. Floundering in this profound loss of self, of her own sense of reality, she gave an inarticulate cry in panic . . .

 

A sudden self-preservation instinct to struggle like a frightened bird--against the imprisoning of self in a useless, unresponsive mind, while her body flew on the wings of another will--gripped Kathryn. But she was firmly caught in the downward spiral of a hurricane that pulled her consciousness down even as it buoyed the rest of the being that was Kathryn Janeway high above the churning maelstrom . . .

 

Then the world shifted and after a kaleidoscope moment of disorientation, Kathryn found herself on top of Tuvok; her body solid and real even in this place of unreality. Looking down into his fathomless eyes, desperate with need, she pulled herself together and gave him what he sought-- _permission_!

 

With one brutally efficient thrust, he pushed up into her--stretching her, filling her with his burning need.

 

 _When did we lose our clothing_? she wondered distantly.

 

She clung to him as he rolled her beneath him to thrust even deeper into her with a desperate wordless grunt. This time she could feel the hot stone and rough sand beneath her, scouring her back raw as he pounded into her. Yet she was detached from the pain she knew was there.

 

And in that parched desert world, she was drowning in his love for her-- _for T’Pel_ , her conscience reminded her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs about his hips and drew him deeper into her. He stiffened, crushing the breath out of her as he clutched her to him and cried out his passion into her waiting body.

 

#

 

She awoke to herself later with the sensation of someone standing over her. Then the pain hit, searing her womb. Her body ached all over, but worst was the ache deep in that indefinable place--her soul. Her eyes filled with tears and she fought the need to cry out.

 

The Doctor reached down and lifted her from Tuvok's embrace.

 

"He's in a deep sleep now," the physician informed her quietly. She curled into him feeling safe and protected in his arms. "Computer, transport directly to Sickbay."

 

After the transporter’s familiar disorientation, Sickbay formed around them and he laid her tenderly on one of the biobeds.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely as he held a water siphon to her parched lips.

 

“I didn’t think you’d want him to see you in pain,” he said gently and she stared at him in renewed admiration. Tears stung her eyes; he squeezed her hand gently. Not for the first time she asked herself when a collection of photons and heuristic algorithms had evolved into compassion.

 

“Thank you for understanding,” she said as he pressed a hypospray to her neck. Immediately the sharp pain in her abdomen subsided. The Doctor passed his diagnostic scanner down her body.

 

“The bruising is fairly substantial and there’s been some tearing,” he informed her. “But it will only take a few minutes to repair.” However, as he prepared the regenerator to repair her physical damage, she knew that there was so much more his instruments could never touch.

 

Later, after the Doctor transported her back to Tuvok’s quarters she lay awake for a long time examining her emotions as honestly as she could.

 

Life, she realised, makes fools of us all. Her regrets regarding Chakotay and Seven, and stranding the ship in the delta quadrant notwithstanding, she’d had a good life. Her mother, the consummate mathematician, always held that life was a cosmic joke. On a microscopic level it made exquisite mathematical sense, but anything more complex than a bacterium was simply the Universe having a good laugh at itself.

 

 _I need to laugh at myself more_ , Kathryn thought ruefully. Slowly she became aware of her bed partner regaining consciousness. She turned into him and propping her head up on one hand, she watched him come awake. Tuvok lay for a moment studying her through half-lowered lids.

 

“Kathryn,” he said softly.

 

She smiled and traced the planes of his face gently. “Hello, Tuvok,” she said and was surprised at the sudden lascivious thought that flashed through his mind.

 

She saw herself soaring above him moaning in ecstasy, her hair wild and dishevelled--her eyes dark with passion as she rode his rapidly hardening erection.

 

“I think I’m up for that,” she chuckled, amazed at how free and unashamed she was to be lying in the arms of an old friend, whom until less than twenty-four hours before, she’d never thought of as anything more than a friend.

 

He looked at her dubiously and she laughed again as she rolled on top of him.

 

“Oh you’d be surprised at what this human woman likes,” she said chuckling evilly and lowering her head to kiss him deeply. Then leaning back and bracing her hands on his muscled thighs as he steadied her with his hands on her hips, she forced his penis to penetrate her at an exquisite angle as she began to ride him hard to an explosive climax.

 

#

 

Tuvok awoke alone in his bed. He examined himself critically and noted that although he was tired, his mental state was returning to a tolerable condition of stability. After a few days of meditation, he would be able to purge the residual emotions that still cluttered his thoughts and achieve his proper level of Vulcan control. As he rose from the bed he felt a small twinge of panic, before establishing contact with her telepathically.

 

Kathryn's mind was warm and welcoming, but as he dressed, he realised that he no longer felt the same intimacy he'd shared with her. Instead, he became aware of other emotions surfacing in her--emotions that had nothing to do with him, that he had no right to be privy to and for a moment he experienced a wave of sadness in the knowledge that she was not his. She could never belong to him in that way, just as he could never belong to her.

 

It had been an extraordinary experience with a caring, experienced lover, but now it was time to let go. He’d never thought of her as a playful lover he realised suddenly. But then he’d never thought of her in the context of a lover before. He left the bedroom and moved to his sitting room, where Kathryn sat curled on his couch. Studying her for a moment, silhouetted in the warp-light, he hesitated on the threshold.

 

"Hello, Tuvok," she called gently. "Come, join me." He was startled as her words echoed her telepathic calls during the _fal-tor-voh_. He made the short walk through the darkened sitting room and sat down across from her. She wore a heavy sweater over a pair of dark slacks, but his keen eyesight could make out her contented expression even in the dim light of the warp streaks. "The Doctor reports that your _plak-tow_ has been successfully achieved. How are you feeling?" she asked softly as she handed him a glass containing a small amount of white wine.

 

"I am well, thank you, Captain," he replied as he accepted the glass.

 

She gave a soft laugh. "For these last few moments Tuvok, it is still Kathryn sitting here."

 

"Yes," he replied. "Kathryn, I wish to discuss my telepathic bond to you."

 

She nodded. "Do you have any idea when I'll lose this awareness of you? I can't read your mind anymore but I'm aware of what you're thinking," Kathryn explained. Tuvok lost his composure and looked at her in open astonishment. She grinned impishly at him.

 

"I do not know--Kathryn. It should fade with time. I have not had experience with a human--" He stopped short in a sudden spurt of embarrassment.

 

She laughed to ease his embarrassment and raised her glass. "Then before we lose this bond, a toast to friendship, Tuvok," Kathryn said softly, "and to love freely given and freely accepted."

 

Tuvok raised his glass solemnly. "To you my friend, Kathryn, live long and prosper."

 

#

 


	4. Voyager’s Gift

"Bridge to Captain Janeway."

 

Ayala’s voice interrupted the weekly meeting between the three members of the command staff. Chakotay frowned as Kathryn’s gaze sought Tuvok’s automatically. Something palpable passed between them, leaving him vaguely uncomfortable.

 

"Janeway here, what is it?"

 

"Captain, we're receiving a distress signal and Shipmaster Sedar wishes to speak with you urgently," Ayala reported

 

"Put the distress signal on and then patch Shipmaster Sedar in on my signal."

 

"Aye Captain."

 

The distress call came up on the wall viewscreen in the briefing room. ". . . Hirid Shipmaster Physician Ankare, of the medical ship _Healstone_ carrying refugees from the Colony of Cascere, to the Federation Fleet," the elderly female Bretori called desperately. "We are in need of immediate assistance. Clatu battleships attacking the convoy--our protectors have engaged them, but there are at least eight Star Class battleships and a number of smaller cruisers. We are presently proceeding with best speed to the homeworld. Please render assistance!" The message paused for a moment and began to repeat, “This is Hirid Shipmaster Physician Ankare--” when Kathryn shut it off.

 

"Put Shipmaster Sedar through," Janeway called. As the Bretori Captain’s face came up on the viewscreen she spoke immediately. "Mr. Sedar, we’ve heard the distress call. Is there anything we can do to help?"

 

" _Gridarel’s Hand_ and _Riainat_ are the closest ships Captain Janeway, at maximum warp we can make it in just under forty minutes. Our ships seem to be holding their own, but the main thing is the medical ship. She is carrying almost three thousand innocents--refugees from our colony at Cascere. The colony is under dispute and negotiations broke down five weeks ago--the government thought it best to evacuate. The _Healstone_ must be protected at all costs. If she can make it into the perimeter, the Clatu would dare not pursue."

 

Kathryn could see the desperation in the man's amber eyes and the horror at the thought of losing so many innocent lives.

 

"May we have your permission to accompany your ships?" she asked. "We would like to do what we can to help."

 

"We have no right to ask-"

 

"You have the right of friendship," she replied.

 

After eight days of Dregardrak attacks, _Voyager_ had left their space behind and put into port at Jenadin, the Bretori colony world Chakotay had scouted. Paris had dubbed the attacks their first “tag-team war”, meaning that since _Voyager_ was faster than Dregardrak ships, those they got away from would call on their comrades ahead to pick up the slack.

 

However, most of the repairs were relatively minor and _Voyager_ was able to leave Jenadin within four days and was currently on route to Bretorin at the centre of this prosperous and seemingly peaceful Federation in the company of two warships.

 

"Thank you Captain Janeway," he said gratefully. "I know you cannot cloak, but if you come in on a slightly different vector, we can still protect you without giving away our position."

 

"I think we can do a little better than that," she replied with a smile; Bretori cloaking devices were crude at best compared to something like a Romulan or Klingon cloak. After a few hours under cloak, they leaked anti-neutrino radiation copiously, which made them vulnerable to anyone that knew where to look and what to look for.

 

"After all it was you who said that you did not think you had seen all that _Voyager's_ engines could do. Now that we've effected repairs, we should be able to get to the battle field within ten minutes." She felt a small twinge of satisfaction at his surprise. "We should be able to help your people create enough trouble for them, while you cover the _Healstone's_ escape."

 

"Thank you Captain," he said once more as he closed the channel.

 

"Yellow alert," Chakotay called as he followed the Captain out onto the bridge. "All hands report to stations."

 

"Tuvok to all security personnel--condition alpha. Secure the children in the protected sickbay nursery and then report to duty stations for further instructions. This is not a drill."

 

Kathryn turned to Nicoletti as she headed for the turbolift. "Lieutenant, I want to go to warp 9 as soon as possible--we'll drop out of warp at a million kilometres and bring armour online. We'll continue the rest of the way at warp six."

 

"Aye, Captain," Nicoletti replied as she literally vaulted into the lift. Kathryn sat down and brought up her console. Her crew readied herself around her with the smooth efficiency that spoke of their long years together.

 

"Engineering reports ready to go to warp Captain. All holds and bulkheads secure. Security reports that the children have all been secured," Chakotay reported.

 

"Hail Shipmaster Sedar, Ensign Kim," she ordered.

 

The Bretori's image flickered on the main viewer. "Captain Janeway," he began.

 

" Shipmaster Sedar, we’re ready to depart," she said without preamble. "Please inform your ships of our specifications so we are not accidentally shot," she gave him a wry smile. "We will draw enough fire from the enemy."

 

"Understood Captain. I am sending the access codes for the perimeter mines," he replied.

 

"Access codes received Captain," Kim confirmed.

 

"As well, once we're there, I have a plan for dissipating the anti-neutrinos from your ships in such a way that their positions will not be revealed for long," she continued. "As it is, the anti-neutrinos trails they're leaking are sending up red flares all over--they might as well not be cloaked. We will flood the area with anti-neutrinos as we come into the battlefield, have your ships scatter throughout the field and ready to vent when the concentration reaches two hundred parts per billion. Ideally it would work best in the vicinity of a star, but barring that, this is the best we can do--the point is to get their emissions down as quickly as possible."

 

Sedar looked at her with undisguised admiration. "Yes Captain, they will be ready. Again thank you."

 

She smiled, "You're welcome, good luck Shipmaster Sedar. Janeway out." She shared a brief look with Chakotay before consulting her console again. "Mr. Paris take us out of here, warp 9."

 

"Aye Captain," Paris returned. "Going to warp--estimated time of arrival at designated co-ordinates, 11.34 minutes."

 

"Janeway to Engineering."

 

"Torres here." Kathryn’s eyes widened at the sound of her Chief Engineer’s voice, but made no comment.

 

"B’Elanna, how long will it take to get the deflector calibrated once the armour comes online?"

 

"About two and a half minutes. I assume that will be where the anti-neutrino flood will come from?" she asked, indicating that she’d been monitoring the communications.

 

"Yes."

 

"You think like a chief engineer, Captain," came Torres' laugh.

 

Kathryn grinned at Chakotay. "Thank you. How long can the Bassard Collectors hold the stores?"

 

"Long enough--I'll have to lower the shields to collect an effective amount, but storing it shouldn't affect our manoeuvrability for long."

 

"All right Commander, make it so."

 

"Aye Captain. Torres out."

 

Kathryn settled back into her chair and watched the activity around her. A small anxiety gnawed at her insides as it did each time she took the ship into battle. Some might argue she had no right to--it wasn't their battle and with the children on board, they got into enough fights on their own without racing headlong into ones that didn't concern them. But three thousand lives were at stake--a thought that made her blood run cold. Kathryn felt Chakotay's hand brush hers briefly as he rose and went to Paris' station and wondered what it meant--if anything at all. She watched him confer with the pilot for a few minutes before returning to his seat.

 

"We're coming up on co-ordinates Captain," Paris reported.

 

"Bring us out of warp and hold position while engineering gathers the anti-neutrinos."

 

"Aye Captain."

 

Chakotay leaned closer to her. "Captain, I think we should use approach pattern delta-nine-five. It would ensure maximum dissipation of the anti-neutrinos while also bringing us in out of effective weapon's range."

 

She nodded as she studied the pattern, "All right Commander, it’s your call."

 

"Captain, a tactical analysis of the Clatu weapon's array shows that they have standard phasers. However, like the Bretori, they have the equivalent of type two photon torpedos. The Bretori's edge seems to be their cloaking ability."

 

"Acknowledged, Tuvok. I take it you didn’t have any trouble with the Bretori mines?"

 

"No Captain, they simply moved aside once we sent the access codes. The last set is moving back into position. With the sensor modifications we've made, we will be able to detect the Bretori ships with a minimum of difficulty, even when they aren’t leaking anti-neutrinos," he replied.

 

"Janeway to engineering. How is it going, Commander?"

 

"We should be ready in another minute and a half, Captain," Torres replied. "We're cycling the collectors just to be on the safe side. We're lucky that the Bretori have the duratanium waiting for us to line the Bassard conduits--they're going to take a beating from the anti-neutrino build-up."

 

"I know Lieutenant," Kathryn returned. "Do your best."

 

"Aye, Captain. Torres out."

 

"All right Paris, prepare to take us in on approach pattern delta-nine-five, warp factor six," Chakotay ordered.

           

"Yes sir."

 

"Shields at minimum and holding--armour deployed," Kim reported.

 

"Red alert!" she barked and the lighting decreased. Only the consoles had any light as the crew concentrated on their work. "Take us in Mr. Paris."

 

"Aye, Captain. Ahead approach pattern delta-nine-five, warp six," Paris confirmed.

 

"Janeway to engineering. Prepare to vent anti-neutrinos on my mark."

 

"Acknowledged, Captain," Seven of Nine’s voice replied.

 

"Tuvok, ready phasers, maximum strength, and photon torpedoes--quantum torpedoes on standby," Chakotay ordered.

 

"Acknowledged Captain."

 

Kathryn watched the battlefield draw closer and called for a false image overlay of the cloaked ships--it was disconcerting watch weapons fire come from nowhere. "Janeway to engineering--vent conduits now!" _Voyager_ cut a wide swath through the battlefield. Kathryn could see the obvious confusion of the Clatu ships at _Voyager's_ appearance and at the Bretori ships breaking engagement and veering away.

 

"Three Bretori ships have begun venting anti-neutrinos," Kim reported. "The fourth appears to be in trouble. Two enemy ships closing at warp 5.5."

 

"Lay down some cover fire--prepare to engage. Ready phasers Mr. Tuvok and choose your targets at will," Janeway commanded.

 

"Helm, take us in on attack pattern lambda-two-six," Chakotay ordered. "It’ll take us in fast and hard, right up as close as we can to kiss their hulls."

 

Kathryn smiled at his audacious plan as their eyes met briefly.

 

"Aye Commander," Paris replied. "Attack pattern lambda-two-six, acknowledged."

 

"Engage Target Alpha!" the Captain ordered.

 

The alien ship grew ominously as they closed at a blinding acceleration. Kathryn watched in satisfaction as the red phaser beams slashed out and blasted the shield grid. The port nacelle exploded--blowing a hole in their aft section.

 

"Bring us about Paris," Chakotay ordered. "Tuvok finish the shields and the forward torpedo launchers on this pass."

 

"Aye Commander," Tuvok replied.

 

As the surgical precision of the strike against the hulking battleships continued, Janeway watched Chakotay issuing his orders and they sailed through a barrage of torpedo strikes against the ship’s forward armour with the bare hint of turbulence.

 

"All right Tom, engage Target Bravo, course eight-three-two, mark 3. Chakotay, once we're in range of Target Zulu, I want a ten second burst from the main deflector array--let's see if we can't get them off the _Warcry’s_ back and push them off their attack vector."

 

"Aye, Captain," Chakotay acknowledged without looking up from his console.

 

"Captain, the _Renkori_ is in trouble! Port nacelle’s down--main power is out and they're down to two forward torpedo launchers and starboard phasers," Kim said urgently.

 

"Stay on course for Target Bravo, Mr. Paris," the Captain ordered calmly. "Tuvok, target Charlie's aft section with a torpedo and fire as soon as we're within 10,000 kilometres. Get them off the _Renkori_."

 

"Engineering reports deflector’s reconfigured," Chakotay said. "Targeting Zulu now. We'll pass within 1000 kilometres of her belly--standing by to fire deflector."

 

"Torpedo away," Tuvok reported briefly as Target Charlie came up on the viewer as she continued to pound at the Bretori cruiser, _Renkori_. The tiny spot of light raced towards the Clatu battleship and the entire aft section blew apart.

 

The alien ship listed for a moment, thrown off course by the massive explosion. Then the ship seemed to hesitate for a moment--hanging outside time before it disintegrated, seeming to implode at first, then to explode in a roiling fury.

 

"Complete destruction of Target Charlie, Captain," Tuvok reported gravely.

 

"Understood," came the grim reply.

 

"Bravo's forward shield has come down under Bretori fire, both nacelles have been destroyed--main power has just gone down. Target Kappa is still under fire," Tuvok reported as the expanse of ship fell away and _Voyager_ continued on it's arch.

 

"Paris, hold our course steady," Chakotay ordered. "Targeting scanners locked. Torres, fire main deflector now!" The blue beam shot out from _Voyager’s_ deflector dish, hitting the belly of the alien battlecruiser and the giant ship whipped out of control. "Cease fire!" Chakotay barked.

 

"Target Zulu's vector has diverged by seventeen degrees--both nacelles are down, Captain," Tuvok reported. "They are drifting away from the battlefield. _Valiant Warrior_ now has the _Renkori_ in tow and is extending shields around her. Target Tango has been destroyed. Target Delta is attempting to break for it-- _Gridarel’s Hand_ and _Riainat_ are converging on her vector."

 

"Stand down red alert," Janeway ordered and _Voyager’s_ bridge was bathed once more in white light.

 

Kathryn's voice was softer as she continued, "Open a channel to _Gridarel’s Hand_ , Lieutenant Kim."

 

"Channel open, Captain."

 

"Shipmaster Sedar," she said as she rose and smiled at the indigo-skinned alien when he appeared on the main viewscreen. "Would you care to do the honours?"

 

Sedar returned her smile and made his way to his command chair. "It would be my pleasure, Captain," he replied with a feral grin.

           

Kathryn met Chakotay’s eyes and smiled warmly as Sedar began to speak, "Clatu Republic Navy, this is Shipmaster Hoden Sedar of the Bretori Federation Fleet. We demand your immediate and unconditional surrender."

 

#

 

Kathryn studied the Bretori High Lord as he strode through the lush garden of his palace. In fact, the entire city of Ko’Sthenin was considered High Lord Skoteri’s palace and though it bothered her to find that the Bretori _Federation_ was essentially a modern, high-tech feudal culture with castes and hereditary rulers, the people seemed content enough.

 

But there was a strange undercurrent rippling through this society. The High Lords had been eager enough to greet the Captain and crew of the USS _Voyager_ , hail them as conquering heroes. And the lavish way they spent their resources on her ship had immediately put Kathryn on her guard--their ships were antiquated and many she'd seen were in desperate need of the same materials they gave _Voyager_ so freely.

 

She suspected that part of the reason for such an overwhelming welcome was not only because _Voyager_ had saved the medical ship and her escorts from the Clatu, but because the Bretori wanted something from them. It sounded a bit paranoid even to her, but she’d been burned too many times during her sojourn through this god-forsaken quadrant--better to be safe than sorry. And after six hours of ceremony, she hoped that High Lord Skoteri would get to the point soon.

 

 _Why do I always forget how tiresome diplomacy can be_ , she thought ruefully.

 

“You look so serious for such a beauteous woman,” Skoteri said in a rather deep, stentorian voice. He was a charming man who flirted effortlessly and for that reason, she distrusted his charm. Listening to that voice, a woman could easily forget that high, domed forehead, piercing yellow eyes with the vertical, slit-like pupils and the deep indigo skin; traits that marked his alien heritage.

 

Kathryn quirked a smile. “So beautiful women can’t have serious thoughts?” she asked allowing a coy note to creep into her voice. She was all too aware of the lack of high-ranking females in this patriarchal society. In fact, Bretori women were kept out of sight as much as possible and Kathryn had only had a fleeting glimpse of one in nearly a week of negotiations.

 

“Not necessarily,” he returned easily. “Just that they shouldn’t if it mars such a smile.”

 

Kathryn chuckled softly. “Sorry, High Lord Skoteri,” she replied. “Worrying is an occupational hazard. It comes with the ship and these pips on my collar.” She tapped the four bits of metal on her dress uniform meaningfully with one fingertip.

 

It was his turn now to frown at her. “What have you to worry about here?” he demanded. “Have we not agreed to your requests for respite and re-supply of your ship?”

 

“Yes,” she said soberly. “You’ve been very generous.” She held his gaze and wished she could gauge his more subtle expressions better. _The hell with it_ , she decided, _there are times when honesty is still the best policy_. And this was one of them.

 

“But in human parlance, I guess I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop,” she continued bluntly. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared--her guess in response to the translation from her universal translator of that ancient phrase. “Humans--suspicious creatures that we are--have another saying; “if something seems too good to be true, it usually is”. I’ve found it to be a truism during our sojourn in the delta quadrant, so that leaves me wondering what the Bretori want from us so badly that they would be so very . . .”

 

She gestured to the lavish selection of food and drink that burdened the tables in the centre of the garden.

 

“. . . generous.”

 

For a moment, from the look on his face, she was afraid that he would storm away offended at the very least. Then his shoulders slumped and his very masculine façade crumpled as he studied her. “I told the Council that a people as advanced as you were would see through this charade,” he said quietly at last.

 

“And the reason for this “charade” as you put it, High Lord?” she asked.

 

His eyes flicked to an approaching group of Bretori and Starfleet officers, which included Chakotay and Harry Kim. “Perhaps we should seek a more private venue for this discussion,” he said, offering her his hand. She placed her hand in his without hesitation and allowed him to lead her from the room, noting the unhappy look in Chakotay’s--and not to mention Ayala’s--dark eyes.

 

Skoteri led her back into the palace, past the formal reception room and up the winding staircase to what Kathryn had understood to be the High Lord’s residential quarters. Two small, male servants in Blue Caste uniforms smiled fleetingly as they hurried downstairs. The comfortable office they entered was lushly furnished, but had that lived in feel, unlike the ostentatious public rooms below. He motioned for her to sit and poured them both glasses of the effervescent _zynth_ , an iodine-coloured wine her crew had found to be an exquisite blend of the headiest red wine and the most sparkling French champagne.

 

He studied her for a few long moments as she sipped her wine and waited patiently for him to speak.

 

“I will be as forthright as you were,” he began. “No doubt your people have noticed the dearth of Bretori females allowed into polite company.”

 

“It has been remarked upon,” Kathryn replied noncommittally.

 

“And no doubt, like most other species, you’ve probably jumped to the conclusion that it’s because we hyper-hormonal males keep them firmly downtrodden below that of even the lowliest Grey Caste male working in the dilithium mines of Yasadin’s Moon,” he said surprising Kathryn with the bitterness in his voice. “Actually, it’s because they have far more important claims on their time. In fact, females have no caste--from the moment of her birth, a female is the most unutterably precious child, for she is all Bretorin.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Kathryn said.

 

“No, you wouldn’t,” he muttered, looking down at his wine. He met her gaze again after a few moments of silence. “I will give you some simple statistics then, Captain, which may put it into context for you. On the basis of conception, slightly more than 54% of foetuses are female, yet male births outnumber female births by a margin of almost eight to one--”

 

“What?” Kathryn whispered in horror as the consequences of such a skewed humanoid population ratio exploded in her mind.

 

A faint smile played on his lips, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “And that’s before the full-blown _rinara_ gets hold of our children--it skews the population ratio even further to about twelve to one in favour of males according to the latest census.”

 

“ _Rinara_?” Kathryn asked hoarsely.

 

“An insidious disease,” he replied. “Every Bretori child born in the last hundred years, Captain, has been born infected with the _rinara_. Nothing developed by our medical technology has been able to cure it.” He gave another harsh, bitter laugh. “Cure? We’d settle for a vaccine or barring that, a more effective treatment--better drugs to mask the pain even.”

 

“Why--” Kathryn’s voice broke with compassion. “Why didn’t you just explain that at the beginning? I take it you’re asking for our help now?”

 

He bowed formally. “I suppose the Council chose this roundabout path for the same reason you worried about our generosity, Captain. Mistrust of strangers--of your motives for being here,” he said. “We dared not hope that you’d be advanced enough medically to help us--or willing. Then there is the fact that we aren’t sure what effect the _rinara_ would have on another species; adults are not contagious--I promise you that--but our children are highly so until they’re approximately ten of our years old. Before the epidemic, we were allies with the Clatu. They attempted to help us and were in turn infected by the children. They systematically eradicated an entire colony in their drive to contain the spread of the disease among their population and we have been mortal enemies since. The disease spread so quickly among our colonies that we didn’t even have that terrible option. This is the reason we have the Bretori Guard and a Fleet so much larger than our peaceful Federation apparently warrants. In the chaos of the early years, even the _Dregardrak_ were able to take entire worlds from us.”

 

His resonant voice was thick with emotion as he continued. “So much time and effort we could be spending on finding a cure is taken up with simply defending our worlds. Outsiders only see our grand palaces--our worlds rich with resources that we’ve barely exploited in the five hundred years we’ve been exploring space. And they see our formidable Fleet, yet your scans should have no trouble confirming that our ships are antiquated and that many are past due for the scrap yards. But we can’t afford to decommission so many of them.”

 

“I see,” Kathryn replied thoughtfully.

 

“Do you?” he asked bitterly. “Captain, I won’t ask you to put your physicians at risk. Our species are similar enough that this disease could conceivably jump across the species barrier and devastate you and your crew, but on behalf of my people, I ask that you consider selling your medical database to us--you have only to name your price.”

 

For her answer, Kathryn tapped her commbadge. “Janeway to _Voyager_.”

 

“Tuvok here. How may I help you, Captain?” her old friend queried.

 

“Put me through to the Doctor, Tuvok,” Kathryn said. “But keep the bridge channel open. I want you to brief Commander Chakotay when we’re done.

 

“Aye, Captain.”

 

A beat later, the Doctor’s voice came over the comm. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

 

“Doctor, I want you to get ready for away duty,” she said. “You’ll be meeting with Bretori physicians who will fill you in on the situation once you get down here.”

 

“Captain--” the Doctor said, alarm shading his voice.

 

“I don’t think the away team is in any danger, but we’ll be beaming back under quarantine to be safe,” she replied, cutting him off abruptly. “The Bretori adults aren’t contagious, but there appears to be a childhood disease that every child over the last century has been afflicted with.”

 

“Every child!” he croaked in outrage.

 

Kathryn held Skoteri’s gaze, reading his non-expression more clearly than any expression he’d shown so far--he was holding back, not daring to hope. “As I understand it, every Bretori child under ten years old is contagious and suffering.”

 

“Oh God . . . oh dear God,” someone’s horrified whisper carried over the comm. Kathryn recognised Samantha Wildman’s voice.

 

“Samantha,” she called gently. “I want you to get together with Tom once the Doctor starts sending you the data on the disease and create a pan-species database of anything remotely related to it for the Bretori. Meanwhile, we’ll see what the Doctor can do.”

 

“Aye, Captain,” Wildman said, briskly professional once more.

 

“Recruit whatever personnel you need, Lieutenant,” she ordered. “And Doctor, get down here as quickly as you can.”

 

“Yes, Captain. Sickbay out.”

 

Skoteri’s voice was hoarse when he spoke again. “Captain, this response is more than I dared hope for,” he said. “But you needn’t expose your doctor or your crew to further risk of contagion.”

 

“There is no risk to our doctor,” she replied and smiled as a puzzled look flashed into his eyes. “ _Voyager’s_ Doctor isn’t an organic life form.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

Kathryn’s smile widened. “The Doctor is a hologram,” she said and winced as the universal translator made a hash of the translation. Too late she remembered Chakotay’s report on the primitive state of their holographic technology; visual modelling was confined to fairly realistic three-dimensional computer animation, but nothing on the scale of true energy-field holograms.

 

She tried again. “He is an artificial life form,” she explained. “Rather like the mining androids you employ. But his physical body is a kind of photonic matter contained by an energy field and run by a sophisticated and adaptive computer program that learns over time.”

 

“Your physician is a simulacrum?” he said in shock.

 

Kathryn chuckled. “A very sophisticated simulacrum, he would tell you,” she said and the High Lord seemed to relax a little, losing some of the apprehension that was plain on his face. “When we were pulled into this quadrant of the galaxy, we lost our medical personnel in the initial catastrophe. The Emergency Medical Hologram was intended to be a short-term supplement to our medical team, but for the last eight years he has functioned as our chief medical officer and has even trained other officers for sickbay duty. It’s taken time, but he’s adapted and evolved to the point that I think he is truly more than the sum of his programming.”

 

“I see,” Skoteri said, unconsciously echoing her earlier words. “And you believe he will be able to help us.”

 

“I don’t know,” Kathryn said honestly. “But he’s pulled a few miracles off for us over the past eight years. There have been times when my crew would not have survived if it hadn’t been for the Doctor’s skill.”

 

Skoteri sketched one of his formal bows and activated the communication console on his desk. After giving a few quick commands to the man that answered, he turned it off and returned his attention to Kathryn.

 

“Then before you return to your ship, Captain, allow me to show you the heart of Ko’Sthenin,” he said ushering her out of the office. She followed him with mild interest as he led her further into the private quarters of the palace. Two guards in dark green uniforms stood at rigid attention as the ornate doors swung open to reveal a balcony overlooking a large courtyard.

 

Three beautiful, mauve-skinned women presided over a riot of about thirty or forty happy children ranging in age from about ten to fifteen as far as Kathryn could judge. Most were boys who played rambunctiously with a couple of blue uniformed male servants. Only five were girls, three of whom sat quietly in one corner with the oldest woman, who cradled the youngest girl in her lap.

 

Lord Skoteri pointed to the woman gently rocking the child. “I present Skoteri, the Lady of Ko’Sthenin, Captain,” he said quietly into Kathryn’s ear. “I am High Lord Skoteri because I have the honour of being the First Chosen among my Lady’s husbands. My given name is Archam Pomba. I would be honoured if you would call me Archam.”

 

She held her hand out to him. “And I am Kathryn,” she said as they shook hands. Below them Lady Skoteri looked up and smiled.

 

#

 

"Is your lab satisfactory?" the elderly Bretori doctor, Lady Ankare, asked the Doctor as he joined her on her rounds.

 

"Yes, thank you for the assistants," he said quietly. "Until I can be sure of what I'm dealing with, I don't want any of my assistants from Voyager at the medical centres. However, I will still have access to the Voyager's computer via the remote link."

 

"Thank you," Ankare replied. "I am surprised your people still want to come to the planet, still want to bring your children for shore leave."

 

"The children outside the medical centres are not contagious. The Captain has left it up the parents on the crew whether they wish to bring their children down or not. Our crew understands what happened and why it happened, and they are sympathetic. I could not understand it at first, but perhaps it is as Commander Chakotay has explained, they feel a kinship to your people--they know what it is to bring children into less than ideal conditions and have to fight for their lives every day," he explained.

 

"Yes," she said softly as they turned into a ward.

 

"How are you feeling? How are you holding up?" he asked studying her tired face. Over one hundred children at this facility alone had died in the twenty-eight hours since he’d beamed down.

 

"I do what I have always done when my children died," she said softly. "I go on, I survive. Come Doctor, we must concentrate on the living, and grieve for the dead when the pains of the living have been eased."

 

#

 

"Then you believe it is not a naturally occurring virus, Lady Ankare," High Lord Skoteri asked in shock.

 

"That is correct, Archam," Ankare replied surveying the stunned members of the Council. She smiled grimly at the Doctor seated with his Captain and Commander. "I think it would be best if I allowed _Voyager's_ Doctor to explain."

 

The Doctor stood and looked around seriously at them all. Only a few minutes earlier, they had been elated at finally seeing a light at the end of this dark tunnel--a way to wake from this nightmare.

 

"First, I wish to make this perfectly clear--this is not a complete cure for the virus. Those of you past the age of ten will carry it all your lives and pass it on to your children. However, it can be eradicated in the children who are below the age of ten years old with this therapy and they will also gain immunity from the disease and pass it on to their children. Ideally, it should be dealt with as early in a pregnancy as possible to ensure the minimum of trauma to the child, but that advantage is offset by the side effects it has in the mother while the foetus is undergoing the treatments. However, you should notice marked reduction in the number of miscarriages. The closer the children are to the age of ten when they begin receiving treatment, the more severely they will experience the side effects of anaemia, secondary infections, hair loss, lesions, extreme nausea and pain. But so far in our clinical trials, none of the most critically ill children have died--all are slowly recovering.

 

"The reason nine or ten years seem to be the critical age for the dormancy of this pathogen is because that is the age when the Bretori genetic programming is less that of a child. They begin to produce the hormones and other substances needed by the adult as their bodies prepare for puberty. Your pigmentation changes and the kinds of proteins and steroids found in your cell membranes also begin to change. The viral DNA inserts selectively in or close to those genes that are exclusively transcribed in children and never in those that are exclusively adult or the ones that are transcribed throughout life."

 

"That is why it is transcribed in the child--making new viruses and causing massive infections and also why it spread among the children so quickly when we were first infected," Ankare explained.

 

"However, it also bears some of the hallmarks of being an engineered virus and not a random mutation of the naturally occurring sample found on your Imirwi colony where the plague first broke out," the Doctor continued. "I wasn't sure until I looked at the sample collected from the children of Cascere colony--Cascere shut off trade relations and all travel with the rest of the Bretori Federation and was free from the disease until a year ago. My scans of the few Casceri adults who accompanied the children back here to Bretorin found them free of either strain of the virus entirely. The reason that the Cascere strain of the virus was so much more virulent was because there is no doubt that it has been further engineered to be so. The treatment for the children with this strain of the virus is slightly different and more intensive, but they too are responding well."

 

"What of your children and your people?" Lady Skoteri asked in a hoarse voice. She had been crying since the meeting began.

 

"We can’t be sure how many of our non-human crewmembers would have been affected, but had Captain Janeway or any of the other humans been infected, they would have become ill within a few hours and died within a four to five weeks if a treatment was not found." He watched the horror on their faces. "Human physiology is similar in some ways to your children's before they begin to change at puberty. A few of the other species however, such as the Vulcans, the Bolians and Lieutenant Torres, who is half Klingon, would be able fight the infection--but only the Bolians would be able to eradicate it. Lieutenant Golwat and Mr. Chell’s tissues were instrumental in helping to find the treatment. However, the specificity of the disease for humanoids is marked, which is why Lady Ankare had us test it for infection of Clatu tissue with tissue cultures taken from your prisoners of war. It is very unlikely that an insectoid species could even be infected by this virus in the first place."

 

"Which makes the report by the _Fire Forge_ and the _Warrior's Light_ ninety-five years ago that the Tixiclat colony was not destroyed more believable," Lady Ankare said in a harsh voice as she watched the realisation dawn on her people's faces. "A hundred years of guilt and sorrow for those we believed we'd unwittingly killed--a hundred years of persecution for a crime that may not have been ours. It makes one wonder why the plague spread so much faster after our _good_ neighbours tried to . . . _help_."

 

"But why?" a young High Lord asked in horror. "Our peoples were allies then."

 

"And since then, how far have they pushed our boarders back Relaris?" Lord Skoteri asked softly. "How many worlds that were ours a century ago are now Clatu? It has only been in the last twenty-one years since we developed the high-energy phasers, plasma weapons and especially ship cloaking technology that we have been able to stem the tide, and even with the best defences, some worlds still fall--like Blagin and Cascere. The Clatu have expanded greatly, swallowing so many smaller empires and societies--only we really stand in their way since the Dregardrak have nothing they want."

 

"Then we must push back!" shouted one angry council member, and was greeted with rumblings of assent.

 

"Be silent!" Lord Skoteri shouted. "How can you think of war at a time like this? The important thing now is our children’s health. I know you are angry, but can you so quickly forget the miracle we have been given today? And tell me what do we fight with?" He looked severely around the assembly. "Every last person in here knows exactly how undermanned our military is and how ancient many of our ships are. What Captain Janeway and her crew have taught us, we will use to keep our boarders steady. We have many resources that we have been unable to tap because of this crisis and we must use them to keep our people safe, give our children time to grow up, give our population time to recover before thoughts of war."

 

Lady Ankare spoke quietly. "There is little glory in that, but there is great reward if we think of where we will be in twenty to thirty years--even as little as ten to fifteen years--and if we think of what kind of society we will turn over to our children. We all saw the sorrow and the hopelessness in our parents' eyes when we came of age and they turned our once great Federation over to us. I want to turn the Bretori Federation over to my children and grandchildren with gladness in my heart and with hope. High Lord Skoteri speaks wisely--we must rebuild, quickly and quietly."

 

"We all know that the Clatu will not wait forever before they begin their attacks, before all out war for our territory," Lord Skoteri continued. "For now, we get our newly modified ships in working order as quickly as possible, build new ships to replace the old ones, which can be used as reserves when needed. There are new ship and weapon designs that merit closer scrutiny and testing--new methods and strategies to be put into practice in our Military Academies. As well the Science Ministry has just informed us of the tachyon web technology they've perfected for perimeter defence, so I suggest that we turn the tide before the Clatu can even fathom that such a thing is possible. Our fine neighbours have planned far ahead, so it is time for us to also be far seeing. We have been living from day to day for too long--looking towards the day when the last Bretori child is born, but that will not happen now, and we can look to the future with hope and not despair. And when our enemies think they can turn on us for an easy conquest, they will find that this wounded beast is no longer close to death and that its claws are sharper than ever!"

 

#

 

"Captain, _Gridarel’s Hand_ and _Voyager's Gift_ have fallen out of sensor range," Tuvok reported.

 

"Thank you Commander," Kathryn replied with a smile. She still felt rather odd knowing that the Bretori had insisted on renaming two of their newest ships in their honour--well at least they hadn’t named it the _Janeway_ as someone had suggested. They were rather put out that the Doctor didn’t have a name, but at the last minute, he’d come up with _Zimmerman_ for the name of second ship. "Steady as she goes Mr. Paris."

 

"Aye Captain, holding at warp 7.5," the pilot confirmed.

 

"I wish them all the best," Chakotay said. "And I hope they do decide to rebuild their Federation before rushing headlong into war--a lot of people were very angry."

 

"Yes," Kathryn agreed. "But Lady Ankare believes that if Lord Skoteri can remain leader of the Council for at least the next ten years, there won't be one for at least a decade. Hopefully by then, the warmongers won't be so quick to lose their children in war before they truly have to. All we can do is hope they continue to rebuild and that the Clatu doesn’t try a pre-emptive strike. Well, we stayed longer than I expected to, but it was not without its rewards. However, I'll be glad when we leave this region; these Clatu sound far too ruthless for my comfort."

 

She smiled at him, and leaned closer to continue the conversation. "It was an interesting first contact."

 

"Yes it was," he replied, rising. "The Bretori are an extraordinary people. If you will excuse me," he said formally. She nodded and he wasted no time leaving the bridge.

 

#

 


	5. The Shepherd

First Officer's Log, Stardate 55372.6

 

“We’ve acquired numerous supplies, spare parts and have even procured five new shuttle fighters, built along the lines of Delta Flyers, from the Bretori shipyards, which engineering is busily bringing up to Starfleet standards. And since the Doctor had been working to cure the children for the last four weeks, the Captain insisted on an extra-long shore leave for all crewmembers. However, although the Bretori were grateful and not to mention generous hosts--almost worshipful where the Doctor and the Captain were concerned--the crew was anxious to continue their journey. But we have company. Five ships belonging to the Clatu have been shadowing us since we left Bretori space.”

 

Chakotay looked out of the viewport, watching dust and particles accelerated by _Voyager's_ warp field, streak past; a singularly unimpressive sight that had once thrilled him as a child when he had taken his first trips off-world. Chakotay sighed before continuing.

 

“As this part of the delta quadrant seems to be shaping up as more of the same--fighting and repairing the ship only to fight again, I had considered bringing up the topic of colonisation again. But the Captain’s renewed optimism would make it a hard sell even among those who had previously been in favour.

 

"Surprisingly, the setback of not making it home through the Borg transwarp hub has crystallised the goal of reaching the alpha quadrant--even in the minds of those who consider _Voyager_ home. Their attitude seems to be philosophical; seven years ago we’d been seventy years away, now we’re only thirty years away. I think most will stay just to see how Janeway accomplishes that feat and our ever-enterprising Mr. Paris has started a betting pool on how quickly it happens.

 

“The consensus is that we’ll make it back inside a decade, while a significant number of more optimistic gamblers are betting on five years.”

 

Chakotay ended the recording stared out of the viewport again. He recognised that Paris was a major contributor to the morale of the ship. For some reason, even more than ever before, the irrepressible young man, like Neelix before him, seemed to consider the welfare of his crewmates to be his responsibility. And although B’Elanna had been a little distant since the baby’s birth, he knew that she shared Tom’s feelings and supported his little schemes. Schemes that consequently kept support for Kathryn’s quest high.

 

Kathryn. Chakotay’s relationship with the Captain was more strained these days than it had ever been, even when they'd been fighting tooth and nail over her decisions regarding the Borg, Species 8472--Ransom. There were moments when they would almost reconnect at an almost visceral level, but more and more often, he found that he was the one to pull away first. And in the last little while, he got the feeling that she was no longer trying. He’d recognised long ago what the scene in her quarters the night of the promotion party had been about. She knew about Seven. And giving Seven quarters had been more of the same; the Doctor’s recommendation had simply been the excuse.

 

She knew about his relationship with Seven and although she was hurt that he hadn’t told her himself, she understood. In her own way, she'd been trying to tell him that they were still friends. He hadn’t bothered wondering who’d told her. Admiral Janeway.

 

But he was tired of it; tired of her understanding of his dalliances and relationships--relationships that often came to nothing--tired of his own understanding of her seeking comfort in the arms of holograms and the occasional alien. He was tired and frustrated at only being offered friendship when he knew that they both wanted more.

 

And he didn’t need her understanding or approval. After Quarra he’d realised that what he _needed_ was to get on with his personal life--one that didn’t include Kathryn Janeway. It was just too hard to continue pretending that he could accept that friendship was all there could ever be between them on this journey. But as he rose and gathered up the reports he had to work on that night, he couldn’t silence that little voice inside that insisted his relationship with Seven was wrong. Lately, it had been growing louder. And he wondered if that voice was the reason he’d agreed with Seven to keep it private until the relationship was “sufficiently cemented to withstand public scrutiny.”

 

As he left his office and quickly crossed the bridge to the turbolift, he grimaced a little at the memory of Seven’s precise, stilted injunction at the beginning of their first date. Although she seemed to be loosening up in the last few months--in fact, at times she was downright emotional and not to mention illogical--she still had a habit of falling back on “drone mentality” and Borg precision, especially in new or unfamiliar situations.

 

 _I suppose it’s to be expected_ , he thought wryly as the lift descended.

 

“Next lesson, small-talk,” he muttered under his breath as the doors opened and he walked out--right into Tom Paris carrying an armload of PADDs. They did the little dance of trying to avoid collision, but didn’t quite succeed. Finally, Chakotay reached out and steadied the younger man, but not before two of the hand-held computers escaped his grasp.

 

“Thanks,” Paris said gratefully.

 

“Light reading for the evening?” Chakotay asked in amusement as he picked the devices up and handed them back to Tom.

 

"Not me." Paris grinned good-naturedly. "Subspace field effects on mesoquartzite energy flow in the ablative armour?" He laughed. "Not on your life, Chakotay. Apparently some interesting subspace resonance patterns showed up in the alloy’s matrix during our battle with the Clatu, so the Captain's turning the armour research over to B'Elanna; we’re thinking of armouring the Delta Flyers--"

 

"What?" Chakotay shouted. "B'Elanna is still on maternity leave--how dare Kathryn dump this in her lap!" Paris' eyes widened in surprise. "And who the hell is in charge of personnel around here anyway? Every time she wants her own way she goes over my head--”

 

Paris’ sunny expression darkened quickly as two crewmen passed, giving them puzzled looks. Shifting the PADDs into one hand, he grabbed Chakotay’s arm and pulled him around the corner.

 

“Who shoved a poker up your ass?” he hissed angrily, keeping his voice low. Chakotay stared at him in shock as Paris’ crude words cut through his haze of anger. “Get off your high horse, Chakotay. B’Elanna is Chief of Engineering--she had a baby, not a lobotomy! She makes her own goddamned decisions! For your information, she _asked_ the Captain for the work; she was going stir-crazy with nothing to do all day but look after Miral. Most of the basic physical repairs to the armour are finished and this research is something she can direct and co-ordinate from our quarters if necessary. How dare _you_! What you do with Seven of Nine is your own business, but don’t pretend that whatever second thoughts or problems you might be having is Janeway’s fault. You’re a grown man--open your goddamned eyes and get your bloody facts straight before you start spewing shit about the Captain!”

 

Paris pushed past him and disappeared into the lift before Chakotay could say a word in his own defence or begin to formulate an apology. As he continued down the corridor in a daze at the younger man’s vehemence, Paris’ words registered with the impact of meteor strike.

 

_“What you do with Seven of Nine is your own business . . .”_

 

 _He knows_ , Chakotay realised. He stopped dead in his tracks; suddenly B’Elanna’s coolness over the last few weeks made sense. She’d never warmed up to Seven and this relationship was bound to make her enmity even worse. Seven’s superior attitude--which he had to admit got wearing after a while--also wouldn’t make it any easier for his Klingon friend to like her. Chakotay resumed his walk to his quarters wondering who else knew about his carefully conducted relationship with Seven. He found that he was bothered by the thought of it making the rounds of Voyager’s highly productive rumour mill.

 

 _Damn it! So what if they know_ , he thought angrily. He had done nothing to be ashamed of and Paris had no right to talk to him that way! What the hell had gotten into him? Another wave of fury washed over him--Kathryn, he recognised now, Kathryn and her suffering martyr act. It was the same old cliché story; she didn’t want him, but she didn’t want anyone else to have him either and just when he’d started something good--something positive--she undermined it with hurt looks and quiet reproach, all the while giving him her tacit permission to continue with Seven. As if he needed _her_ permission!

 

 _I’m sick of it!_ The thought made him tremble with rage as he stopped to punch in his codes. Shooting a venomous glare at the closed door to the Captain’s quarters, he stalked inside when his own door opened and stopped short--

 

Seven lounged on his couch in a delectable concoction of black satin and lace, her lustrous blonde hair framing her face in soft waves. Chakotay’s brain unhinged from his tongue as he stared at her in shock, his anger from only minutes before, forgotten.

 

A small, curious smile played on her full lips. “By my calculations, Commander, your duty shift ended over two hours ago,” she said.

 

“Seven?” he croaked. He cleared his dry throat and started again. “Seven, what are you doing here? Did I forget a date?”

 

“Not as far as I know,” she replied, rising from the couch and snaking her arms around his neck. “But I think that now is the appropriate time to begin sexual relations.”

 

“Wha- _what??!!!_ ” Chakotay sputtered in bewilderment as her blunt statement registered.

 

She removed her arms from around his neck and continued as if ticking off points on a list. “We have been dating for approximately four months now and have had a total of seventy-four encounters with varying degrees of emotional and sexual display. My research shows that on average, the majority of human couples have engage in intercourse by the second month of their liaison, while ninety percent have most certainly had sexual intercourse by the third month. Only 0.85 percent of human couples who find each other attractive and compatible have not had sex by the fourth month.”

 

She levelled her gaze at him; suddenly the collar of his uniform was not the only place that felt uncomfortably tight. “Do you not find me attractive, Chakotay?” she asked pointedly.

 

Chakotay took a deep and--he hoped--unobtrusive breath. “Of course I find you attractive Seven,” he began.

 

“Good,” she said sharply. “I find you attractive as well.”

 

Chakotay watched, frozen for a moment, as she pulled the spaghetti straps of the negligee from one shoulder, then the next. His arm moved independent of his will as the piece of satin began to slip down her body. He caught it and hitched it up to her throat, covering his first sight of her impressive--and definitely gravity-defying--breasts.

 

“You do not want me!” she stated, eyes flashing with anger.

 

He smiled. “Believe me, I want no one more at the moment,” he assured her as he tried not to think of the increasingly uncomfortable bulge in his pants.

 

“Then why?” she demanded, pulling away from him and struggling to get her arms back in the correct holes of the negligee, tears welling up in wide blue eyes. Chakotay groaned inwardly at the sight of those tears. “Is it because I was Borg?”

 

“No, it’s not because you were Borg,” he said quietly. “If that had been a factor, I would never have started dating you in the first place.”

 

 _So why did you?_ his little voice whispered. He ignored it.

 

Forlorn and hurt, she said, “They say that you’re in love with _her_ \--are you, Chakotay?”

 

His face tightened with anger; he didn’t have to ask whom she was referring to. “You shouldn’t listen to gossip, Seven,” he said, forcing himself not to glare at the wall he shared with the Captain’s quarters. “Once and for all, Seven, there is nothing between the Captain and I, and it was not for a lack of trying on my part--problem is that she never tried.” He put his hands on her shoulders, drawing her close. He led her over to the couch and sat down next to her.

 

“Right now, my only concern is for you,” he continued, facing the problem head on. “Let’s face it, Seven, this is your first real relationship and that’s a special thing--something that shouldn’t be rushed. It’s also something that won’t conform to the latest statistics on human relationships. Making love--having sex--is something that should be done when both partners are ready for the consequences of that act, and frankly, I don’t think you’re ready yet.”

 

He cut off her intended protest with a gentle peck on the lips. “Intellectually you know all about sex--” He grinned. “You probably know the sexual practices of more species than any other human being alive. But that knowledge doesn’t prepare you for the emotional consequences of having sex and for my own peace of mind, I need to be sure you know, in here, that you’re ready,” he said placing her hand over her heart. “And I need to know in my own heart that you are ready. Anything less is to do both of us an injustice and can cause a lot of pain on both sides.”

 

“How will we know when we’re ready?” she asked softly, head bowed. “When I am ready?”

 

Chakotay lifted her chin with one finger. “Just give it time, Seven,” he replied smiling. “You’ll know. Hey, we haven’t even had our first public date yet,” he chuckled.

 

She nodded. “I should go back to my quarters now,” she said rising and folding her arms about her chest. He could see embarrassment creeping across her face.

 

“Why don’t you stay,” he said gently. “Replicate something less um--distracting--on my credits and I’ll make us dinner.”

 

“Thanks, Chakotay,” she replied. “I’d like that.” She started towards the replicator, then stopped and turned to face him again. “What about 2100 hours on Sunday?”

 

“Sunday?” he asked quizzically.

 

“For our first public date,” she clarified. “Mr. Paris is having a party on holodeck one.”

 

Paris’ angry words rose in his mind. “I think Sunday would be just fine,” he replied with a smile.

 

#

 

“I still say you should have let me at least replicate a cake,” Paris groused as he held Kathryn’s chair out for her. She settled down next to B’Elanna and leaned over to watch Miral sleeping peacefully in the bassinet on the chair between them.

 

“Tom, we went over this,” she warned, tearing her attention away from his adorable little daughter. “It’s a nice thought, but unnecessary. Besides, there comes a certain moment when it’s not prudent to remind your commanding officer of her advancing decrepitude.”

 

“Captain!” Harry said in shock.

 

She smiled at Harry to take the sting out of her words, but Tom studied her in surprise. He prided himself on being a man with few illusions, but the haggard face he glimpsed behind her amiable mask shocked him. He was used to seeing a vital--if rather driven--woman behind his buttoned-down Captain, never someone so fragile. The loose green silk shirt over the chocolate-coloured slacks flattered her colouring and concealed much of that fragility. But B’Elanna and Sam were right; Chakotay and Seven had a lot to answer for.

 

“Then how about at least one dance, Captain,” Harry said regaining his composure. She nodded gratefully as the subject dropped. Tom’s young friend took her hand as she rose and B’Elanna looked on with approval.

 

As they joined the small crowd on the dance floor of Sandrine’s, Tom had to admit it was another successful party. The pool table was gone for the moment, but a boisterous group gathered in the corner to watch an impromptu dart tournament, while Billy Telfer seemed to be doing his best--short of handsprings across the floor--to impress both the Delaney sisters. Or perhaps he was trying to impress his old pal, Celes Tal, whom the notorious duo had taken under their wing in the last couple of months. Tom had to admit, studying the short, crimson number Celes wore and the masses of dark curls piled on her head, the young woman certainly cleaned up well once she got past her shyness and natural instinct to fade into the ship’s grey bulkheads.

 

The song changed to another instrumental of an old, Jazzy stand-by, _Mona Lisa_. Ayala thanked Samantha Wildman for the dance, and then tapped Harry on the shoulder. The Captain smiled as older man swept her slowly, respectfully across the dance floor. Harry wasted no time asking Tal to dance and apparently she preferred that to Billy’s handsprings. Telfer collapsed onto his noggin as Harry gracefully swung the young woman across the floor.

 

Tom chuckled. “Smooth, Harry, real smooth,” he said in admiration as Samantha sat down across from him. His eyes twinkled as he met B’Elanna’s questioning gaze. “Well, my work there is done--and to think Ensign Kim use to be tongue tied around women.”

 

“I think _Lieutenant_ Kim went way beyond your teaching a while ago,” B’Elanna laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said, patting his hand consolingly. “They say a man can’t be considered a truly great teacher unless his student surpasses him.”

 

“Oh thanks,” Tom drawled as Samantha sputtered a laugh.

 

Ayala and Janeway danced past the table. The Captain laughed heartily as the lieutenant spoke, tossing her mane of auburn hair as she retorted something back in typical Janeway fashion. Tom smiled, wondering how much allowing her hair to grow long again had to do with Chakotay and a certain blonde Borg babe--

 

His smile froze in place, and cracked. _Speak of the devil_ \--apparently just thinking about devils also did the trick.

 

Chakotay stood on the threshold; his hand hovered on the small of Seven’s back as she scanned the crowd with what could only be described as a triumphant smirk. The light grey dress she wore clung to her curves and her gauzy wrap curled around her like a film of smoke. Seven angled her body proprietarily into Chakotay as she turned to speak to him.

 

B’Elanna’s hand tightened around Tom’s, making her displeasure plain--with pain. He patted it gently with his free hand and rose, plastering a smile on his face and slipping into the role of effusive host as he let her go. He made his way over to greet Chakotay and Seven, whom people were just beginning to notice. He ignored the shocked stares while the crew looked from the new arrivals to their Captain dancing with Ayala, apparently oblivious as another song started. Paris darted a glance at the stiff back of the woman in Ayala’s arms and knew better.

 

 _Oh boy!_ Tom barely caught the sigh from escaping and grinned at Chakotay.

 

“Thought you weren’t going to make it, Old Man,” he said heartily, wondering if his voice sounded as false to everyone as it did to him. “Welcome to the resurrection of Sandrine’s!”

 

“Like what you’ve done with the place,” Chakotay said sarcastically, brushing past Tom as he led a visibly gloating Seven of Nine to a table on the edge of the dance floor.

 

“Chakotay,” Tom heard Seven say as she draped her wrap across the back of her chair. Her voice carried above the din. “I think I’d like to dance.”

 

#

 

Throughout the evening, Chakotay had had to swallow the impulse to shout, _"What the hell are you staring at?"_ as each crewmember's eyes widened at the realisation that he was actually on a date with Seven of Nine. That the woman he was paying attention to was not Kathryn Janeway.

 

Later, after he had seen Seven back to her quarters, and they had spent the better part of half an hour _saying_ a thoroughly satisfying good-night, he had wandered down to the mess hall--more at loose ends than anything. He didn't see Torres in a darkened corner as he removed the pot from its heating element and poured himself a cup of tea, but B'Elanna's slight shift in posture drew his attention. Miral was sleeping peacefully on her lap and she smiled as he approached her table.

 

"Is this seat taken?" he whispered. He still marvelled at how much B'Elanna changed when she was around her baby--how soft and well . . . motherly she became. "So how is the most beautiful young lady on _Voyager_ doing?" he asked, smoothing the already thick honey blonde hair away from the sleeping child's face.

 

"Cranky," B'Elanna replied resignedly. "But what else is new, she seems to have inherited Klingon lungs. I had to let Tom get some sleep--his turn tomorrow night, but with his luck she'll probably sleep right through."

 

She studied him for a moment. "So how did it go tonight?" she asked quietly. She and Janeway had left the party early, ostensibly to put Miral to bed.

 

"You mean aside from feeling like a circus side-show?" he asked irritably. "God, you'd think that for once, someone would have a different reaction."

 

"People were bound to be surprised," B'Elanna said reasonably.

 

"Everyone acted as if I've divorced Kathryn and left her with ten kids!" he fumed clenching his teeth. "It's been over seven years--years with absolutely no encouragement from her! I suppose it's my own fault for waiting so long."

 

"Why are you so angry, Chakotay? It's more than just people's scrutiny--that scrutiny would have been ten times worse if it had been the Captain you'd taken out tonight," Torres searched his face as she shifted the baby on her lap.

 

"Perhaps because she never gave us a chance," he replied. "It's like she began saying no and can't stop now because that's the way it's been for so long. Sometimes the scope of her tunnel vision is so narrow that she can't see anything two millimetres outside its boundaries. Well I'm tired of waiting--I truly thought she would begin to get over whatever inhibitions were holding her back if given enough time. I guess I was wrong. The great Captain Kathryn Janeway doesn't need anyone," he finished bitterly. "But the moment someone shows a little interest in me, she gets upset--starts acting like some damned martyr!"

 

"I didn't see any martyrs on the holodeck tonight," Torres said tightly as she held his gaze. "I saw what I think most people saw tonight--and believe me it wasn't pretty!" she spat, temper heating up and Miral whimpered. She lifted the baby to her shoulder, but didn't stop her scathing tirade as he stared at her in wordless surprise at the anger in her voice.

 

"I saw a silly, selfish adolescent with an over-developed figure, who thinks she can steam-roll over everyone to get what she wants!" she snarled in a low voice. "I saw a man whom I _thought_ I knew playing a game. I hope to God I'm wrong about it, because if I'm not, then it is one sick, twisted little game and I guess I really didn't know that man at all! And I saw a woman who came out to a little unofficial celebration of her 45th birthday--"

 

Chakotay's eyes widened in utter shock; he'd forgotten Kathryn's birthday altogether.

 

"Who came out to keep morale up after having _all_ her own hopes shattered just a couple of months ago--because it was the right thing to do for her crew. And what did she get? She got a slap in the face when the one man she cared about so much that she was once willing to risk her ship and her crew to rescue a child he _thought_ was his--

 

"This man showed up with the one person she considers her daughter--the one person whom time and again she's gone into the depths of _Grethor_ to save, including breaking the Temporal Prime Directive and Kahless knows what other laws! This man and perhaps the only daughter she’ll ever have chose that day to flaunt their relationship in her face!"

 

Chakotay stared at her, horrified as he saw his motives reflected in the unflattering mirror of B'Elanna's perceptions. If one of his closest friends could see his relationship with Seven this way--

 

"You can't really believe that B'Elanna!" he shouted in outrage.

 

Her lips curled in disdain. "Oh no?" she asked bitterly. "Exactly what am I supposed to believe, Chakotay? All I know is what I saw--a terribly hurt woman--

 

"No! I saw a woman who had every right to be hurt by what happened tonight act with grace and with dignity and with _class_ \--things that damned, smug _Borg_ will never have! And now you're angry because she didn't fall apart, fall at your feet and beg you for another chance? Because she didn't want to stick around for you to throw any more _shit_ in her face?"

 

He glared at her as she continued, but her temper seemed to run out of steam. "Look Chakotay, whatever her reasons are for not pursuing a relationship with you, Janeway feels them strongly, and she's only human--they're obviously very important to her. From _Day One_ , getting this crew home has been her number one priority! She made her oath to the crew before any sort of feeling developed between the two of you and she was honest enough not to make any promises to you that she knew she couldn't keep, but we both know that she loves you, cares about you. You've always known that she felt honour-bound to put the Captain's needs ahead of Kathryn's and what the Captain needs is a good First Officer. But in order to have that, all Kathryn could accept from you is friendship.

 

"And to say that she doesn't need anyone--well you're wrong, and a statement like that makes me wonder about exactly how much you've actually bothered to get to know your supposed _best_ _friend_ in over seven years! A person only has to spend five minutes alone with her to know how much she needs other people in her life."

 

The blaze in her eyes quickly dampened again. "I don't presume to know what goes on in your head, Chakotay, but you'd better figure out pretty quick what you're doing before you do a lot of damage--to yourself and to those two women. If you're using Seven to get back at Janeway, then you're not the man I thought you were." She rose and gathered up the baby's things with her free hand. "And if you're really--truly--getting on with your life, then I'm glad, and all I'll say is good luck with Seven. I wish you all happiness."

 

He helped her shoulder the baby bag and settled the child back into the crook of her arm. "Thanks," he replied, humbled by her words and unexpected insight. "Good night."

 

"Hah! Good night? There's a joke--I'll be lucky if I get four hours before she starts wailing again," she laughed tiredly as she trudged out of the mess hall, leaving him to his disturbing thoughts and demons.

 

#

 

Kathryn sat curled in her armchair watching the universe streak past as _Voyager’s_ warp engines slowly ate the light years separating her from the alpha quadrant. Her fingers curled around her coffee mug, soaking up the warmth.

 

To her surprise, she felt a sudden cool dampness on her cheek; she’d thought she’d been all cried out hours earlier. Then again, she’d thought she’d been all cried out months ago.

 

 _Who am I fooling?_ she wondered ruefully, certainly not Tom or B’Elanna, who had contrived to get her out of the holodeck--before she made a fool of herself. As if her crew didn’t know what kind of fool she was already. It was inevitable that Chakotay would start to take Seven out in public--she was surprised he’d waited so long--and she had no right to feel hurt that he had.

 

 _Did he have to do it on your birthday?_ her anger prodded her.

 

She sighed and tried to ignore her anger--her disappointment. He’d always done something special for her birthday and she hadn’t always been appreciative of it. She hadn’t always appreciated a lot of things about Chakotay.

 

Drying her eyes, she rose and crossed the room. After recycling her mug, she went to her bedroom, removed her robe and lay down. She wasn’t sleepy, but she’d need all her strength to get through tomorrow.

 

“Taking things lying down isn’t like you, Kathy,” a familiar voice chided from the empty spot behind her. Suddenly there was a warm presence filling that empty space and yet it might have well have been as empty as ever.

 

“You don’t know what’s like me, Q,” she replied, refusing to turn and face him.

 

“Yes, well I must say I certainly never imagined you and cold fish, Tuvok,” he taunted.

 

In the back of her mind, she knew he was goading her, but she couldn’t help the flare of anger that flooded her as her protective instincts revved into high gear, animating her limbs. She swung her legs out of bed and stood up, glaring at him.

 

“Don’t even go there, Q,” she growled. “Some things are off limits, even to you!”

 

He made a face, but Kathryn’s gaze didn’t falter. “All right, all right! Sheesh! Every time I think I’ve got you humans figured out, you go and do something completely opposite from expected.”

 

Kathryn reached for her robe at the foot of the bed. His hand stopped her. “What happened to doing it for love, Kathy?” he asked quietly.

 

“There are some things more important--or rather there are other forms of love that are just as important,” she replied, sitting on the edge of her bed again.

 

A minute passed in silence, and then another. Finally, “Is that how you justify it to yourself?”

 

Her anger returned and she yanked her arm away, picked up the robe and put it on. “I don’t need to _justify_ anything--especially not to you, Q!” she said belting the robe tightly and rising. “Now, what do you want?”

 

“Do I need a reason to look in on my favourite redhead on her birthday?” he asked with a charming smile plastered on his face. She trusted it as much as she trusted Paris’ charming smiles--and Tom Paris’ schemes were apt to be a hell of a lot more benign.

 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Q,” she said, but her anger, like her strength, was already ebbing away. “I happen to know that you’re married to your favourite redhead. How are Q and my godson?”

 

“Fine. The old ball and chain has taken him to space diving in the rings of Selusili Prime--he makes an adorable Gomtu,” Q replied preening like the proud father he was.

 

“I’m glad he’s having fun.”

 

“You don’t look like you’ve been having much fun lately,” Q observed. “Let me take you away from here, Kathy--we’ll go see the Rigol Lava Falls on Alkur II and watch the sky catch fire!” His eyes lit up and for a moment his enthusiasm was infectious and so very tempting, but only for a moment.

 

"If you wanted to do something for me, where were you a couple of months ago?" she asked bitterly.

 

"Who do you think kept Braxton’s bumbling time cops of your geriatric self’s ass?" he shot back. Kathryn wrapped her arms around herself as that realisation hit and sank in. "You've known me long enough, Kathy--there are things that even I can't do no matter how much I might have wanted to. And even with your limited perception of the universe, you know there exists an infinity of choices and an infinity of outcomes."

 

"So there are versions of the timeline where _Voyager_ gets home," she said taking a deep breath as she felt tears threaten.

 

"And versions where you and your entire crew gets _assimilated_ ," Q said harshly. "And versions where you never go back and your crew dies off one by one--most times horribly! And versions where Kathryn Janeway stays her ass in the alpha quadrant because she left Deep Space Nine one minute--one second . . . one nanosecond too late to be transported by the Caretaker's tetryon beam’s displacement wave!"

 

Kathryn sat on the edge of the bed and was silent for a long time. Finally, she crawled beneath the covers and clutching them tightly, closed her eyes. "Thank you, Q," she said in a flat hollow voice. "Now, just leave."

 

"Kathryn--"

 

She was so tired, but rest was a long way off. Years away.

 

"Q, _please_ ," she pleaded. "Nothing here matters to you--nothing that _happens_ here has any effect on you. If your conscience is bothering you, then go play in a universe where it doesn't. Just leave me alone."

 

She didn't turn around, but she knew when he'd finally left, leaving her to emptiness.

 

#

 

“What are you doing here Dad?” Q Junior asked angrily as the older Q materialised on _Voyager’s_ hull, just outside the Captain’s quarters.

 

“I thought you were with your mother,” Q answered petulantly.

 

The immortal boy’s eyes flashed anger. “She’s right--you know that!” he raged. “You had no right to come here and try to salve your conscience! If there’s one thing you taught me--it’s that the time streams _must_ run their course! They must be allowed to diverge and recombine at will--isn’t that what you said? We are nothing but Shepherds of the Multiverse and that galls you, doesn’t it. It galls all the Q, because by our very nature the Shepherds don’t matter--only the _sheep_ matter! Aunt Kathy knew it without even trying and that we don’t matter scares the hell out of you. What right did you have to come here and torture her like this? Get it through your head, Dad, you’ll never understand her; you’ll never understand them--not really.”

 

“And I suppose you think you do?” Q retorted sarcastically, livid with his son’s tone.

 

Suddenly a jolt of power coursed through him as the boy drew on all the energies of the very fabric of the Multiverse--the infinity of timelines he straddled--and channelled them through the being that was Q.

 

“You forget, Father, what _you_ made me to be,” the young Q said, the danger in his voice surfing that conduit of energy coursing through his father. “The Shepherd to guide the Shepherds; the Watcher to watch the Watchers. I know them well enough to know that I will never truly know them and I accept that. But what you fail to understand--what all Q fail to understand--is that you don’t have to know them to learn from them. In her own way, she too is a shepherd and I fully intend to learn from her!”

 

Junior brutally cut the umbilicus of energy and sent his father spiralling back into the Continuum. He looked over his shoulder, looking through the bulkhead into the room where she lay, dry-eyed, staring vacantly at the same wall. He didn’t have to dip into her thoughts. His compassion told him that he could have soothed her, taken her pain away, but in the end it wouldn’t have mattered. Nothing he could do would matter; only her actions in this place mattered. Anything he did would only be an illusion, since no Q could ever truly share her reality--even those poor Q-souls who’d ostensibly been made mortal.

 

“I’m sorry, Aunt Kathy,” he whispered and slipped between the quantum cracks of the sidereal universe into the Continuum.

 

#

 


	6. Disturbances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating. Having not read this story in a few years, I'd forgotten it does get a bit more racy than I'd initially thought.

A smile lit up Samantha Wildman’s face as Michael Ayala stopped at her table in the crowded mess hall, breakfast tray in hand. “Please, join us,” she invited and Naomi happily scooted over to make room. He sat down gratefully.

 

“It certainly is crowded this morning,” he observed, meeting Samantha’s gaze. Her smile dimmed a little. Understanding flashed between them. Rumours tended to spread like viruses on _Voyager_ and the scene between Janeway, Chakotay and her young Borg protégé as it was played out on the holodeck the night before, was far too juicy not to have made the rumour mill.

 

Ayala remembered the moment his smiling Captain had frozen almost imperceptibly in his arms, pain clouding her blue eyes and the blood draining from her face. He remembered his own near stumble as a slight quarter-turn in their dance had brought him face to face with the reason for Janeway’s pain and the near instantaneous reflex he felt to protect the small, pale woman in his arms at all costs. Then her Captain’s Mask had descended, smoothing her features as she began to speak quietly again and smiling ruefully at him as he bumbled through the conversation before his shock-rattled brain caught up with is mouth.

 

Poor Harry looked like he could have used some of that hard-won experience that went into a Captain’s Mask. He’d frozen, with a look of such utter shock and disappointment that Ayala realised that the young man was carrying a torch for the Borg woman and probably always had been. Throw in the Holo-doc and his blossoming “feelings” for Seven, which he wore on his virtual sleeve, and Ayala had a feeling that the journey had just become a lot more complicated.

 

When Chakotay and Seven had boldly stepped onto the dance floor, Miral’s piercing cries and B’Elanna’s suddenly foul mood had been a godsend. The ever-solicitous Captain had thanked Mike for the dance before making her way over to Paris’ corner. After a low conversation with Tom, she’d shouldered the baby bag and steered her seething Chief Engineer and wailing baby from the holodeck, while the kind-hearted Celes had dragged Harry over to endure the ministrations of the even more _kind-hearted_ Delaney sisters.

 

Ayala had sat down next to Samantha and watched as the dancing couple pointedly ignored the stares of their crewmates and pretended not to notice the commotion they’d created. He’d watched and wondered how his old friend could justify what he’d done to his relationship to the Captain with this manoeuvre. And he wondered how Seven--despite whatever differences or resentments had cropped up between them--could _not_ know how wrong it was to do this to the woman who had given her so much.

 

“Are we still going to the holodeck this afternoon, Uncle Mike?” Naomi asked anxiously and he dragged his mind out of his introspection as he recognised that the little girl sensed the lack of the usual morning’s light-hearted banter in the atmosphere of the mess hall.

 

Naomi was a very perceptive child. She had taken to calling him, Chakotay, Mendez, Rollins, Chell and even Paris and Kim, “uncle” recently after learning in Chakotay’s Social Studies class that it could also be used as a term of respect for her mother’s male friends. And among her “uncles” and “aunts”, no one seemed to object to the inclusion in Naomi’s concept of an extended family. But only off-duty, the rest of the time she called them by their rank, like the good little Starfleet officer she often emulated. Of course, the one person whom Ayala thought could benefit from being an “aunt” was always “Captain”.

 

“Of course,” he replied smiling. “It’s all set for 1400 hours. Me and you and a dog named Boo!”

 

She giggled happily as he made the familiar joke--one that had started nearly fifteen years ago with an old 20th century song that had become his son’s favourite when Ayala and his wife had needed to put the contrary little hellion to bed.

 

Tomas had giggled merrily too.

 

A pain constricted around his heart. Ayala realised that he hadn’t thought of his children lately--hadn’t really thought of them or Marta since the destruction of the Borg Queen and the Hub. It was too hard to think about them--and of the other man they now called _Dad_ \--so he focused all his attention on the little girl in front of him.

 

“Any special requests?” he asked, pushing down the emotions that threatened.

 

“Not Flotter,” she declared promptly.

 

He laughed and met Sam’s amused gaze. “Why not Flotter? Did you two have a fight?”

 

She giggled again. “Of course not, silly,” she said, green eyes sparkling. “But Flotter’s baby stuff and I’m too old for that now.”

 

“Oh-ho,” he said, at a loss for words.

 

Samantha was staring at her daughter’s bright head with a mixture of maternal pride and wistful sadness that her little girl was indeed growing up. And growing up fast--Naomi, although only six-years-old, looked ten. As if it moved of its own volition, his hand covered Sam’s slim, pale one and squeezed it gently for a moment.

 

“Spoken like a true Captain’s Assistant,” a familiar voice said and Ayala met the Captain’s twinkling, blue eyes. He hadn’t noticed when she’d arrived and from the looks on his crewmates’ faces, most people hadn’t noticed either.

 

“Captain!” Naomi squeaked uncharacteristically. For such an outgoing little girl, she was often tongue tied around her hero.

 

“Hello, Miss Wildman,” Janeway said, holding a mug in one hand and extending a PADD to Samantha with the other.

 

Ayala realised that Janeway had a way of speaking to Naomi that the child responded to like a little sponge. Though there was undeniable affection in the Captain’s voice, she neither spoke down to the child, nor treated her like a pseudo-adult, but like a person worth speaking to--and listening to. No wonder the little girl considered it the rarest treat when the Captain spent time with her. Ayala should know, since Naomi talked about little else for days afterwards.

 

“So, if not Flotter, then what would you like to do?” Janeway asked.

 

Naomi blushed. “Well, Uncle Tom’s teaching Icheb to fly and he’s shown me the controls on the Delta Flyer,” she said tentatively.

 

Janeway looked thoughtful. “Looks like I’m going to have to have another talk with our Mr. Paris,” she mused. “You’re still a bit young to be handling real shuttles, but . . . hmmm . . . Mr. Ayala,” she said fixing her gaze on him. “Do you remember the holo-program _Star Hawks_?”

 

“Are you kidding, Captain?” Ayala laughed nostalgically. “I must have spent my entire holodeck allowance trying to get to level ten the summer I turned fifteen.”

 

Janeway chuckled. “Well, _Star Hawks_ might be a bit advanced for Naomi--although Cadet Icheb might benefit from it,” she said. “But I remember seeing in the holodeck database, a few weeks ago, a program called _Flight of the Sky Knights_ , which if memory serves me was the sister program--”

 

“For nine to twelve year olds,” Ayala said. “I remember it now! My pesky cousins had it. The Sky Knights’ mission was to find the Fire Crystals and return them to the Sun Castle on the Mountain of the Four Winds to free the Empress of Fire from the spell the King of Ice placed on her.”

 

“Wowww!” Naomi squealed with definite excitement.

 

The Captain raised an eyebrow and a crooked smile tugged at her lips as she sipped her coffee. “Are you sure it was your cousins’ program?” she quipped.

 

Everyone at the tables around them laughed and Ayala could feel his face heating with remembered teenaged embarrassment at being caught playing the kiddie game. “Hey, it was a fun game,” he protested laughing. “You’re right, Captain, I think Naomi would enjoy _Sky Knights_. Thank you.”

 

“Yes, thank you Captain!” Naomi said fervently.

 

“You’re welcome, Naomi,” she replied. “After all, I can’t have my Captain’s Assistant bored, now can I?”

 

“No Captain!”

 

“Good,” Janeway said shaking her head. “Well, have a good day off, lieutenants, and enjoy yourselves.”

 

“Thanks Captain,” Ayala said. “We will.”

 

“Thank you, Captain,” Samantha murmured.

 

Janeway nodded. “No problem,” she said quietly. She stroked Naomi’s hair gently for a moment as the little girl gazed at her in adoration. “And I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, young lady--I think we’ll take a look at solar system mechanics this time,” she said.

 

“Yes, Captain!” Naomi replied brightly.

 

Janeway chuckled again and headed for the mess hall doors. When Ayala looked back at Samantha, his friend was looking across the room to the kitchen entrance. He followed her gaze. Seven of Nine stood in the threshold, her eyes trained on Janeway’s retreating back before the doors snicked shut. He couldn’t help the low, hollow whistle that escaped him; the young woman looked mad enough to spit!

 

He realised that Seven was jealous of everything Janeway had--including her friendship with Naomi, even though in the last couple of months he doubted the former Borg had spoken more than a handful of words to the little girl. Naomi hadn’t understood the sudden distance Seven had put between them and for that matter, neither had Icheb. But the boy had the advantage of throwing himself into his work and schoolwork in half-a-dozen departments around the ship. Naomi didn’t have that luxury.

 

He met Samantha’s gaze again and she dropped it to look at her daughter playing with the last of her cereal. He caught the meaning in her wordless request.

 

“Well pal, if you’re done with that, I believe we have a couple of music lessons to catch up on,” he said.

 

“Yayyyy!” the little girl cheered piling all their utensils onto her tray with a great deal of clatter. She jumped off her chair and pushed it in as she sang the chorus of a little tune he’d been teaching her to play on keyboard for the last couple of weeks.

 

_So where did Zari and Alyssa go?_

_Far, far, beyond Antares!_

 

“And I seem to remember the Doctor saying something about the anatomy of the Veldosian slime slug?” her mother reminded her as she and Ayala rose. He gathered up their trays.

 

Naomi’s enthusiasm deflated rapidly. “Yes Mom,” she said in such defeat that Ayala had to laugh as he disposed of the trays and followed them out.

 

#

 

“This is unacceptable, Ensign Celes,” Seven said, shoving the PADD back into the hands of the young Bajoran woman. “Run the analysis again!”

 

Celes looked startled and glanced at Jenny Delaney who had ostensibly come to Astrometrics to pick her up and go to the holodeck at shift’s end. Seven had heard them making plans in a steady--irritating--stream of comm-chatter all afternoon, which was obviously reflected in the sloppiness of Celes’ work.

 

“But I checked the equations twice!” Celes said voice rising. “The results are far within all the standards for sensor calibrations given the condition of this part of space after an ion storm.”

 

“It is not up to _my_ standards and if you had bothered to check the revised protocols in the Amended Protocols to the Astrometrics Sensor Array Database, instead of wasting time talking over the communications system, you would have known that,” Seven pointed out calmly. “You have until 2100 hours to complete the work.”

 

Celes looked down in dismay at the PADD in her hand; Seven turned away from her in disgust and returned her attention mapping the nearest sectors of the beta quadrant. Why Janeway insisted on keeping the incompetent young woman in Astrometrics, Seven couldn’t fathom.

 

“ _Ensign_ Celes,” Delaney said, placing a strange emphasis on the young woman’s title. That was another thing Seven couldn’t figure out--why the Captain had promoted Celes.

 

The unexpected clatter of the PADD against the console jolted Seven out of her thoughts and she turned in annoyance to face Celes. The characteristic diffidence usually present in the Bajoran woman’s eyes was no longer there; instead she found uncharacteristic defiance and anger.

 

“You want the analysis done again, _you_ do it!” she said. “You have a problem with the way I did it, take it up with the _Captain_ ,” she continued maliciously. “It’s after 1830 hours--I’m off duty.”

 

Without waiting for Seven to recover from her shock, Celes turned on her heel and strode over to Jenny Delaney, whose gloating gaze held Seven’s.

 

As they left, Seven heard Celes mutter, “What the hell’s eating her?”

 

Delaney laughed. “Not what--who?” she answered. As the doors opened, she turned in the threshold to face Seven again with an insolent smile. “Or maybe that’s the problem,” she said mysteriously. “Despite the goods on display, he hasn’t bellied up to the Swedish Smorgasbord to chow down. Something tells me he prefers good Irish coffee much more!”

 

Celes laughed explosively and yanked Delaney out of Astrometrics. But before the doors closed, Seven heard her howl over their collective laughter, “Oh you’re bad, Jen! God, you are so _baaadddd!_ ”

 

The closed doors abruptly cut off their laughter. Seven turned back to her console where the PADD lay, mocking her--like _they_ mocked her, she realised, with their impenetrable humour and the humanoid societal cues and conditioning she was never exposed to past the age of six. Although she didn’t know why, she knew that Delaney’s remarks had been insulting and somewhere deep within some indefinable place, she hurt. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and checked the room quickly as she wiped it away. Mercifully, she was alone.

 

Seven looked at the PADD again. Anger quickly replaced hurt. Celes wanted her to take it to the Captain? She would take it to the _Captain!_

 

#

 

Kathryn luxuriated in the soft comfort of her thick robe against her damp, naked skin. The long soak in her bathtub had felt so good after a day of crawling through the bowels of the ship, taking readings at the shield and armour junction points for B’Elanna.

 

She could have delegated some ensign in Engineering or Maintenance to the task, but it had felt good to get back in touch with her ship, back to basics--to take a break from the monotony of the bridge _\--and your thoughts of Chakotay . . . hmmm_ . . . a little voice goaded her.

 

 _Yes, that too,_ she admitted honestly to herself as she relaxed in her favourite armchair, sipping herb tea spiked with Betazoid chocolate liqueur, while watching the universe streak past her viewport. It was a strain to have Chakotay always draw back from her, but she supposed he’d probably felt the same way all the times she’d held herself distant from him. Although, since he’d started his beta rotation the day after the fiasco on the holodeck, it was less of a strain than it might have been had she had to face him on the bridge for the last few days.

 

 _Turnabout is fair play_ , the old cliché went. _You reap what you sow_. Clichés were cliché for a good reason; they were so often true.

 

She let go of the disturbing thoughts that chased each other around in her head--she refused to let herself get caught up in that old cycle of regret and self-recrimination again--and just allowed her mind to float on the fragrant tea’s warm cloud of steam.

 

Another mouthful caressed her throat going down and the warmth of the heady chocolate liqueur spread to the pit of her belly, before fanning out. Her arms grew heavy and her toes luxuriated in the soft pile of the carpet. The faint heat spread inevitably to that little bud at the apex of the delta between her legs, bringing a gasp of surprise and a smile to her lips. She squirmed in the chair, rubbing her thighs together in an effort to prolong the pleasant sensuousness of the sensations without the frenzied need to chase an orgasm. Her robe parted and the faint draught of cool “night” air circulating in her quarters felt delicious on her exposed, naked sex as her thighs fell open.

 

“I can see why Phoebe raves about it,” she chuckled wickedly and considered casting her mind out, seeking Tuvok’s in a way she’d never imagined would become almost natural for her. But the implication inherent in actively seeking out her friend to assuage her arousal was another complication she didn’t need in her life at the moment. She pulled her awareness back into herself. Besides, nature had equipped her in other ways to deal with her sensual side--all by her lonesome--and in the last seven years she’d become _very_ good at it.

 

Kathryn drained the last of the tea and sank deeper into the chair, her posture now akin to a wet noodle-- _a very wet, very limp noodle_ , she thought with another soft chuckle. Her mind distantly considered moving her hands down to oblige that little tyrannical bundle of nerves--that harsh little Mistress--that was just beginning to poke her sleepy head out of her little shelter to demand satisfaction for being disturbed from her slumber. Looking out the viewport from beneath hooded lids, Kathryn bit her lip, realising that anyone out on the hull looking in would be able to see her--see her newly shaved sex spread so wantonly, so exposed to the universe. Of course no one would be out on the hull with the ship in warp, but it was such a deliciously titillating and perverse idea that she moaned involuntarily at the sudden heightening of her arousal.

 

The teacup fell from her grasp unnoticed; she gripped the armrests of the chair tightly, determined not to touch herself. She licked her lips, wondering lasciviously how long she could last with her little Mistress’ demands for relief becoming more and more insistent. She focused all her thoughts, all her attention on the tyrant. A delicious frustration built in her core; her body was unable to retreat from the voluptuous sensations coursing through her swelling labia and the delightful congestion of her clit beginning to engorge with blood, yet denied the stimulation that would push her over the edge and bring fulfilment.

 

Kathryn began to rock her pelvis, clenching and unclenching her aching vaginal muscles, which only served to heighten the heady sensations, while doing little to assuage them. The waves of sensation from her clit matched her ragged breathing. She looked down her body in the semi-darkness, past the slopes of her small breasts with their erect nipples and her gently rounded belly, and imagined she was rubbing the hard, throbbing little button while her aching slit wept its frustration.

 

She bit her bottom lip hard, concentrating on that imaginary hand, fingers pushing back the cowl and rubbing insistently on the raw, sensitive body of the little tyrant demanding that it be done _harder! harder!!! faster!!!!!_

 

And she obliged it, but only with her imaginary hand and felt a distant surprise as her body, unable to bear her mind’s assault any longer, stiffened and bore down as she strained to stay on top of the climax that rolled through her in waves of sensation. She gripped the armrests, white-knuckled, concentrating on the sensual core of her being, oblivious to the guttural noise building in her throat culminating in a hoarse shout as her over-stimulated body vibrated convulsively.

 

Kathryn collapsed, boneless, into the chair, breathing heavily as though she’d run a marathon and trying to gather her scattered senses. Weakly, she tried to pull her robe more securely around her and clear her orgasm-fogged brain, but found that she didn’t have the strength. She stopped, drew a deep breath and relaxed back into the chair, idly caressing her breasts as she contemplated gathering up enough energy to make the short trek to her bed, where she could take care of herself properly. Nice as it had been, she really needed to indulge herself with all the trimmings in order to take the edge off.

 

The ship obviously hadn’t blown up around her while she was on her little mental masturbation jaunt.

 

 _Although_ , she thought ruefully, _it feels like I’ve blown a few circuits in my brain_.

 

Kathryn realised that she needed to take more time for herself. Never had she felt so horny before, even as a teenager and she remembered her sister Phoebe’s teasing in her last communiqué with the alpha quadrant--the same message that had included the recipe for the aphrodisiac tea and the admonishment to find someone to share it with.

 

“If not that gorgeous First Officer of yours, Kathryn, why not some virile young ensign or lieutenant you could teach a thing or two. You know what they say about women over forty.”

 

She laughed softly, allowing her mind to hover in the cocoon of sensations and floating there, more at peace within her own skin than she’d been in a long time.

 

“Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway--respond!”

 

The former drone's voice was like a plasma explosion, destroying Kathryn’s enjoyment of her orgasm's sensuous afterglow and making her jump out of her skin.

 

"What the hell?" Kathryn muttered--she'd left strict orders that the Captain was not to be disturbed unless in an emergency. Trust Seven to be the one person on the entire ship to catch her in her little orgy of one. Perversely, she grinned at the thought then stifled an involuntary shout as her shift in position sent a delicious jolt straight from her hyper-sensitive clitoris to the most wonderful sex organ of all--her brain.

 

“Seven of Nine to Janeway!” The young woman’s voice was insistent now and carried a hint of something else.

 

Kathryn sighed. _No rest for the wicked, old girl_ , she thought, starting to rise. She stopped and lowered her tired body back into the chair; she was off-duty and surely whatever bee Seven had in her bonnet no doubt could be resolved with the minimum expenditure of energy on her part. She massaged the kink developing in her neck. _Not your only kink, eh Captain_ , the little voice whispered lasciviously. And as if in response her little Mistress gave her another mild jolt that made her toes tingle.

 

"Ummm . . ." she moaned.

 

Before she could move or clear her mind enough to formulate a response to Seven's hails, the door opened and a ray of light from the corridor beyond seared her dark-adapted eyes for a moment before it closed. Kathryn scrambled to adjust her robe to cover her breasts.

 

"How the _hell_ did you get in here?" she shouted hoarsely, rising and belting the robe tightly. "How dare you come in here without permission?"

 

"You did not answer my hails," Seven replied.

 

"For a damned good reason," Kathryn fumed. She experienced another disconcerting twinge in her nether regions--it would have been hilarious if she weren’t so bloody furious. And frustrated.

 

"I thought that perhaps something untoward had happened to you.”

 

“Sure you did!” Kathryn said sarcastically. “Now get out!”

 

“I need to speak with you!"

 

The Captain reigned in Kathryn’s temper with an effort. "And it couldn’t wait till morning?"

 

There was a slight pause, then; “No it could not!”

 

Kathryn took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Okay, what is so important that you couldn't take it to Chakotay? What’s so _bloody_ important that you had to disturb my rest?” she demanded.

 

“The computer indicated that you were not yet asleep,” Seven said. Kathryn heard the haughtiness in her voice.

 

“Sleep and rest are not necessarily the same thing,” she countered shortly. “What is this about, Seven? I left instructions that I wasn’t to be disturbed tonight except for serious matters.”

 

“It is regarding Celes Tal,” Seven replied. “I want her transferred out of my department as her primary station.”

 

“What? Wait a minute-- _your_ department?”

 

“Yes, her efficiency rating remains low and her work continues to be sloppy," the ex-Borg said complacently.

 

"Yet her efficiency rating for her rotations in Stellar Cartography and Engineering have climbed steadily for the last year and she continues to receive excellent commendations from her supervisors in both departments," Kathryn observed quietly as she turned to gaze out the viewport.

 

Seven didn't take the hint. "I believe that her friendship with the Lieutenants Delaney may be a mitigating factor in her rating in Stellar Cartography, Captain," she said.

 

"So you're saying that Megan Delaney allowed her personal relationship with the Ensign to affect her judgement regarding Tal's competence as an officer?"

 

"It may not have been intentional on the Lieutenant's part," Seven allowed generously and Kathryn wanted to laugh. "But _humans_ are prone to such failings."

 

Kathryn turned her head to study the former Borg, this young woman she'd tried to take under her wing.

 

"Yes, _humans_ are," she said returning her gaze to the viewport again. "But Vulcans aren't prone to such _failings_ as far as I know. Are you suggesting that Lieutenant Vorik's evaluations are coloured by his _feelings_ for Ensign Celes?"

 

Kathryn heard the young woman's gasp of surprise as she followed the argument to its logical end.

 

"What exactly has Ensign Celes done?"

 

"She performed the analysis and diagnostics of the new sensors we received from the Bretori inadequately," Seven said harshly. "And when ordered to redo it, she became insubordinate, refusing to perform the analysis in the correct fashion and telling me that if I wanted it done, to do it myself!"

 

 _Whoa Tal!_ Kathryn couldn't help the smile that hovered on her lips. What had started out as a reclamation project of a group of young crewmembers that had fallen through _Voyager’s_ cracks, had borne fruit as each of the young people had blossomed Kathryn considered Celes Tal’s new found confidence one of her brightest success.

 

Back in the alpha quadrant, the young woman might have been more suited to a career of kindergarten teacher than Starfleet officer; but out here she’d needed to know that others had confidence in her abilities before she could believe it herself. Not exactly the kind of personality that stood up well to Borg ideals of perfection. But the Delaneys had picked up where Janeway had left off quite nicely.

 

Seven held a PADD out to Kathryn who could just make out the smug curl on the former Borg’s full lips.

 

 _Good God!_ Kathryn thought with sudden recognition as she accepted the PADD. _Seven enjoys tattling!_

 

And why shouldn’t she? Most little children--especially little girls--enjoyed the thrill of having power over others, precisely because children often had no real power. But Seven wasn’t powerless and wasn’t exactly a child-- _though she’s not exactly an adult either_ , Kathryn’s conscience prodded and she suddenly felt a pang of shame for her jealousy of this adolescent.

 

 _Lord, I hope you know what you’re doing, Chakotay_ , she prayed silently.

 

She called for an increase in the illumination and sat down, taking her time to read the PADD and ignoring Seven’s shuffling from one foot to the other. Invitations to sit down were apt to be met by a cold “I’d rather stand,” so Janeway had stopped asking.

 

Kathryn’s eyes widened in surprise as she read the report--she’d tried to keep abreast of Harren, Telfer and Celes’ progress as much as humanly possible for a Captain charged with the safety of 146 lives, but _this_ \--

 

“Seven, exactly what is _wrong_ with this report?” she asked curiously, scrolling further through a highly original and startling diagnostic analysis of the Bretori sensors and how _Voyager_ could better utilise them. An analysis that made sense given this area’s tendency towards ion storms and given the Bretori’s innate understanding of their little sector of the galaxy. Kathryn even recognised her old field of study--massive halo compact objects with their attendant space-warping gravity wave distortions and ion storms--as the basic starting point of Tal’s analysis. The intuitive leaps were surprising for the timid, uncertain young woman Celes had been, but not for an officer confident in her knowledge and her ability to find the right answer.

 

“She neglected to run the analysis according to the revised protocols as described in the Amended Protocols to the Astrometrics Sensor Array Database, which _you_ asked me to implement,” Seven replied.

 

“Yes, but as far as I can see, she ran the Standard Protocols and everything is well within tolerance--in fact, if we implement a number of her suggestions, it will _improve_ the astrometric sensors’ scanning resolution by a significant margin,” Kathryn pointed out.

 

“That is debatable,” Seven said; Kathryn could hear the sneer in her voice.

 

 _That is the problem, isn’t it, my lovely Borg?_ Kathryn thought sardonically. _For all your vaunted individuality now, you still can’t believe that a mere human--_ and a rather lowly and flawed one at that _\--can improve on Borg perfection_.

 

“Furthermore,” Seven continued in obvious disdain. “The Standard Protocols are flawed. They make little provision for the subspace eddies that can be a problem as our course brings us closer and closer to the Galactic Core or the gravity wave distortion effects.”

 

Kathryn didn’t bother to smother the spurt of irritation that erupted at Seven’s officious and condescending manner; no wonder Celes had found the courage to stand up to her.

 

“If you had actually _read_ the report instead of dismissing it out of hand,” Kathryn said evenly as she rose and turned to face the young woman. “You would have realised that Ensign Celes’ recommendations regarding tuning the sensors to follow a modified protocol used for scanning massive halo compact objects would do away with the problem of grav-wave distortions inherent in our proximity to the core. For in effect, isn’t the Galactic Core nothing but the most massive of all massive halo compact objects?”

 

Seven’s jaw fell open in surprise, but Kathryn recognised the mulish obstinacy that quickly replaced her shock. She continued without giving the other woman a chance to speak.

 

“And given the distance we intend to maintain from the core, these effects you’re so worried about would probably not be much of a problem for these sensors even if they used the Standard Protocols. When I agreed to the amendments you suggested for the sensor protocols, we didn’t have the Bretori sensors and I certainly did _not_ intend them to be the only protocols to be used in Astrometrics and if that’s the case, then some changes clearly have to be made.” Kathryn held the PADD out to her. “And I think we’ll start by implementing Celes’ protocols.”

 

“You can’t be serious!” Seven shouted in disbelief. “She’s incompetent and insubordinate and she shouldn’t be allowed near important ship’s systems just because _you_ want to play favourites!”

 

Kathryn shook her head in disbelief, staring at Seven as if seeing her for the first time. “I’m going to ignore _your_ incompetence in this instance--probably because I _am_ playing favourites!” Seven’s eyes widened as Kathryn threw her own words back at her. “Because it can be nothing but _incompetence_ when someone in your position refuses to read and evaluate work on its own merits. But I will _not_ ignore insubordination! You are going to study the work and come up with a plan to implement Celes’ protocol and you are going to do it _tonight!_ ”

 

“I will not!” Seven shouted obstinately.

 

“Oh yes you will!” Kathryn said in a low voice, her temper rising to the boiling point with the inevitability of a solar flare. “Computer, lock onto Seven of Nine’s commbadge signal and execute Janeway Transporter Protocol 3-sub-A4. Hold in pattern buffer and await instruction, Janeway pi alpha 1-1-omega!” she ordered, hurrying to her console as Seven dissolved with a startled cry of surprise.

 

#

 

Chakotay straightened his posture in the Captain’s chair for the umpteenth time. He was brooding. He knew it; hell, everyone on the bridge--and probably the entire ship--knew it. But ever since his conversation with B’Elanna in the mess hall the night of Kathryn’s birthday--the night he’d taken Seven on their first public date to Tom’s impromptu party for Kathryn--he had been brooding.

 

He had stepped back and taken stock of his relationships with Seven and with Kathryn. B’Elanna’s words from that night haunted him.

 

_"I saw a man whom I thought I knew playing a game. I hope to God I'm wrong about it, because if I'm not, then it's one sick, twisted little game and I guess I really didn't know that man at all!”_

 

Was that what he was doing with Seven? Playing games to get back at Kathryn for all those times she’d rejected him? For all the chances _she’d_ squandered?

 

 _No, face it Old Man_ , his little voice goaded. _You squandered those chances as surely as she did. You never pushed the issue. Instead you let the questions lie, unasked and unanswered. Why? Perhaps because you were afraid of the answers_.

 

Every time his mind brushed up against his memories of his time with Seven now, invariably he heard B’Elanna’s voice--the voice of his conscience? He heard B’Elanna calling Seven Kathryn’s daughter.

 

_Daughter!_

 

And no matter how much his mind shied away from it, that thought once voiced, was made suddenly and irrevocably _real_. It didn’t matter that he and Kathryn had never been physical; rationally there was nothing wrong with his relationship with Seven. But rationality had nothing to do with it. Deep down the sense of _wrongness_ persisted and he realised it had been there all along; he’d just refused to acknowledge it.

 

His complex, unconventional relationship with Kathryn, had been spun from unspoken dreams and unacknowledged hopes on both sides, and if it had been all been a game, he had played it as well as she had. Kathryn’s daughter should have been _verboten_ \--off limits in whatever little games they played between them. He wondered how long it had taken his alternate self in Admiral Janeway’s version of the future, to realise this and if he had, why did he still marry Seven?

 

The moment he’d met the Admiral, his first thought had been that something had sucked the life out of Kathryn and eventually he’d come to understand that the old woman he’d known over those few days had been tempered by more than time and experience. The ineffable vitality that Kathryn had radiated from the moment they’d met--face to face on her bridge against the backdrop of _Caretaker, Ocampa, Kazon, 75,000 light years, Starfleet, Marquis_ \--was gone from every cell of the Admiral’s being.

 

In the years he’d known Kathryn, that inner light had flickered and even faded at times--like now--but it was always there. And it had re-ignited briefly in Admiral Janeway’s eyes as she left on her suicide mission to face the Borg Queen. But he wondered now what had quenched it in the first place--another sixteen years in the wilderness? Having to watch the man she cared about--dare he believe _loved?_ \--fall in love with and marry the daughter she loved? Again his mind skittered away from the uncomfortable thought.

 

He’d always thought of Seven as Kathryn’s protégé, reclamation project--safe impersonal labels without the emotional resonance that something like substitute daughter or adopted child would have. He’d deliberately placed the former Borg in the same category as Harry, Tom Paris and B’Elanna, young officers looking to their Captain for mentoring and perhaps a little healthy hero worship. But he doubted that she saw them or any others she’d taken under her wing over the years as her children-- _well, except perhaps Harry those first years_ , he thought smiling.

 

He frowned again. Why hadn’t he seen the kind of emotional investment Kathryn had made in Seven? The same kind of emotional investment she’d placed in Kes and to an extent Naomi, though she was careful never to overstep her bounds with Samantha. And even if Seven couldn’t recognise that mother-daughter relationship for what it was, why hadn’t _he_ seen it and stayed the hell away from the young woman?

 

Had he and Kathryn been playing “their game” so long he’d forgotten that there were others who were not privy to it and its rules? Had he forgotten that life was not a game--was never a game?

 

A sudden scream jolted him bolt upright as Seven materialised a hair’s breadth from the viewscreen’s panorama of cold space and colder stars. The young woman took an involuntary step forward, ran _smack!_ face first into the screen, tripped over her own feet and as her arms pin-wheeled desperately, fell back onto her ass still screaming.

 

There was utter silence for a few stunned moments, before a roar of laughter shook the bridge--before Chakotay gathered up his wits and hurried across the bridge to Seven’s side.

 

“Seven, what’s happening?” he asked, crouching to offer his hand. She was trembling as she took it; her eyes brimmed with tears, which threatened to overflow as the laughter continued. He turned to glare at the bridge crew, to chastise them for their gross insensitivity, but the laughter stopped abruptly. He frowned for a moment, and then realised that they weren’t looking at him but at the viewscreen above his head.

 

Slowly he turned his gaze to it. Kathryn Janeway, three metres tall, eyes flashing intense, blue flames, was standing with her hands on hips--a pose that could have been ludicrous in that fluffy white robe if not for her inherent dignity. She loomed over him. Her glare was enough to melt duratanium hull plating. But even so, the fact that she probably wasn’t wearing anything under the robe insinuated itself into his psyche and would surely torture him later.

 

Seven rose quickly and backed into him, visibly shaken--so un-Borglike that he automatically put his arm around her shoulders and she shrank into his protective embrace. But the action barely registered. All he could do was look at Kathryn and think, _“Oh shit!”_

 

“Commander Chakotay,” she said in a low, dangerous voice. “Did I or did I not leave strict orders that I was not to be disturbed tonight?”

 

_Shit!_

 

“Yes, Captain!” he replied, deftly disentangling himself from Seven.

 

“And did you or did you not make those orders known to all departments?”

 

_SHIT!!!_

 

“Yes, Captain!”

 

“Including Astrometrics?”

 

_Oh Fuck!_

 

“Yes, Captain!”

 

Kathryn folded her arms across her chest and glared down at him. “Then how is it that Seven of Nine came to my quarters demanding entrance and when I ignored her, invaded _my_ privacy using _your_ command codes, Commander?” she demanded.

 

_FUCKING HELL!!!!!_

 

Chakotay stared open-mouthed at her, and glanced at Seven, who was trying her damnedest to look defiant, before returning his gaze to Kathryn again. Judging by her damp hair and the robe, the Captain was fresh from a bath--an image of Kathryn Janeway dripping wet from another bath and wearing only a towel rose unbidden in his mind and he felt the stirrings of something he’d long thought dead.

 

However, unlike that earlier bath, Kathryn’s skin was dry, so she must have been out of the water for quite a while. Something about her posture caught his attention--oh, she was spitting mad all right, but there was a languid quality to the way she held herself, as if it took all her willpower to stay upright. He studied her face, noting her heavy-lidded gaze that belied her obvious fury, her moist, swollen, pink lips--the flare of her nostrils and skin that seemed to glow with the aftermath of something more earth shaking than a simple bath. Even in anger, Kathryn exuded sensuality; it took his breath away.

 

_FUHHHCCCCKKKK!!!!!!!!_

 

His thoughts reeled with the implications; Seven couldn’t possibly have barged in on her at such a time! Not _THAT!!!_ He alone of perhaps everyone on the damned ship knew how precious little time Kathryn took for herself. To have someone--to have _SEVEN_ \--barge in on such a private time, it was a wonder Kathryn hadn’t beamed the young woman into open space. Then he thought of Seven’s manner of arrival on the bridge and realised that it had been a warning to the ex-Borg of just how angry and upset the Captain had been.

 

“I don’t know, Captain,” he replied hoarsely. Glaring over his shoulder at Seven again, he continued, “But I will find out, Ma’am!”

 

She nodded, face grim. “See that you do, Commander,” she said, “and effective immediately, I want the system overhauled and all command codes re-set. Get together with Commander Tuvok and see that it’s done before alpha shift briefing in the morning. Furthermore, Seven of Nine is to be stripped of all privileges above Security Level 2--” Chakotay’s eyes widened and he heard the bridge crew gasp in shock behind him. Security Level 2--the status of ordinary crewmen.

 

“You can’t do that!” Seven shouted.

 

“Seven, be quiet!” Chakotay roared. The young woman’s mouth closed with a snap as she stared at him in shock. “I’ll see to it, Captain,” he said turning back to the viewscreen.

 

“Until further notice, her work is to be supervised by either you or Commander Tuvok--starting immediately,” the Captain continued harshly. “She is to spend tonight working on integrating Ensign Celes’ protocols into the astrometric sensor array.”

 

Chakotay looked at Janeway in confusion. _Celes?_ The young woman whose incompetence he’d listened to Seven complain about at least once a day for the last five months? The one Kathryn had taken on that little jaunt with two young men--a jaunt that nearly killed them all just so three misfits could have an away mission experience?

 

He realised that Kathryn was still speaking. “--impress on her the value of judging a person’s work on its merits and not on spurious prejudice. If she refuses to do the work, throw her in the brig. Ensign Celes’ protocols have been transferred to your command files as well as Commander Tuvok’s, Commander Torres’ and Lieutenant Nicoletti’s files.”

 

Chakotay replied with the only answer he could make. “Yes, Captain.”

 

“Excellent Commander,” she said formally. “One last thing--” Chakotay swallowed the urge to groan. “Please explain to Crewperson Seven of Nine, why, when _Ensign_ Celes told her to perform the analysis herself if she wanted it done again, _Ensign_ Celes was not being insubordinate!”

 

 _Father help me_ , Chakotay prayed silently, instinctively knowing that _this_ was what had driven Seven to such a horrible invasion of Kathryn’s privacy.

 

Chakotay cleared his throat and made himself turn to face Seven; she stood there livid with humiliation. He felt sorry for her--sorry for that over-weaning pride that had got her into this mess--but surprisingly little else. Damn, getting _himself_ out of this mess was going to be impossible, but he deserved it.

 

“Insubordination implies rude behaviour to or refusal to follow the orders of a ranking officer or officer with greater seniority by a crewmember of lower rank or seniority,” Chakotay quoted from regulations everyone knew by heart. “Crewperson Seven of Nine has no rank, therefore by definition, Ensign Celes cannot be considered insubordinate in her behaviour towards her, Captain.”

 

He met Kathryn’s steady gaze again. “Thank you, Commander,” she said quietly. “Please see that I’m not disturbed again tonight. Good night.”

 

“Good night, Captain,” he answered and the viewscreen once again returned to the cold, brilliant stars.

 

“You can’t seriously--” Seven began haughtily.

 

“Into my office, now!” Chakotay barked and seeing the hurt in her eyes, he knew that this was part of the reason Kathryn was afraid of pursuing a relationship with a crewmember--with him. Lovers had a hard time finding the line between commanding officer and bed partner. She stared at him for a moment longer, then turned on her heel and marched stiff-backed across the bridge into his office.

 

He tapped his commbadge tiredly. “Chakotay to Tuvok,” he called.

 

“Tuvok here. What can I do for you, Commander?”

 

“Please report to my office, Tuvok,” Chakotay said. “Sorry to disturb you, but we have a situation up here.”

 

The Vulcan wasted no words. “On my way. Tuvok out.”

 

Chakotay turned to face the bridge officers, who were suddenly very engrossed with their stations. “Lieutenant Ayala,” he said. “Take another security officer and get down to the Captain’s quarters. Post yourselves at either end of the corridor. No one--and I mean _no one_ disturbs the Captain without going through Tuvok or me first!”

 

“Yes sir!” Ayala rapped out and moved quickly to the turbolift.

 

“Lieutenant Vorik,” Chakotay called to the young Vulcan engineer. “You have the bridge.”

 

“Aye Commander,” Vorik acknowledged formally. He moved down into the command area. “I have the bridge.”

 

Chakotay nodded, then took a deep breath and marched into his office.

 

#

 


	7. Factoring Humanity

The tension between the First Officer and Seven of Nine was palpable when Tuvok entered Chakotay’s office.

“ . . . no right to treat me this way!” Seven was screaming at Chakotay, her face uncharacteristically flushed and eyes wild. 

Tuvok recoiled from the onslaught of emotion as if from a physical blow. He’d never seen the ex-drone so emotional before and from Chakotay’s shocked expression, Tuvok surmised that neither had the First Officer witnessed such emotion from her.

“And you did nothing, just stood there and let her humiliate me like this!”

Ah, so the blurring between the personal and professional continues, Tuvok observed distantly as Chakotay’s face darkened with anger.

“That is enough, Seven,” he said in a low, measured voice. “You’re damned right I did nothing! Captain Janeway has every right to deal with you in any way she wants to! I don’t know what you thought you were doing when you broke into her quarters this evening; you’re just damned lucky that she didn’t beam you into open space for that stunt and I for one wouldn’t have blamed her.” 

Seven stood trembling with rage and glaring speechlessly at Chakotay.

“How dare you invade her privacy? How dare you invade mine?” Chakotay raged.

Tuvok felt his own eyebrow rise involuntarily at the Commander’s revelations. “Seven broke into the Captain’s quarters?” he asked.

“And used my Command codes to do it! Apparently, she hacked me.” Tuvok nodded and turned to study the ex-Borg woman thoughtfully. “As a result,” the Commander continued. “The Captain has revoked her security clearance and busted her down to Level 2. She also wants us to overhaul the system and change the codes by morning.”

“I see,” Tuvok replied noncommittally. He’d glimpsed Kathryn’s state of mind earlier that evening; Seven was indeed lucky the Captain hadn’t transported her into open space. 

“As if it really matters what security clearance I have,” the young woman sneered. “I doubt even she thinks so. I can get into any ship system I want. She simply needs to show she can still order us around--pretend that people still care that she’s the Captain! She likes to think she can run our lives, Chakotay, but we don’t need her. We don’t have to follow her orders. She hates that we’re together now and she’s jealous! She wanted to humiliate me in front of you. That’s why she transported me onto the bridge--she was making a point to you.”

He studied Chakotay closely and saw the look of betrayal beneath the surface of his anger at Seven; she had used him, and being used is something Chakotay would not easily forgive. Indeed, Tuvok’s own infiltration of Chakotay’s command had been a betrayal that had taken the Commander a long time to forgive.

“And I got her message loud and clear,” Chakotay said quietly. “You will report to Astrometrics and begin implementing Ensign Celes’ protocols. If you don’t want to follow orders--fine--you can spend some time in the brig until you decide to abide by the rules everyone on this ship has to follow. And if you don’t want to pull your weight around here, we will assume that you no longer want to be a part of this crew and I will personally beam you to the next rock we come across that can support life!” 

He studied her shocked face intently, as if seeing her for the first time and continued in his quiet, measured tones. “You seem to be under the impression that the personal relationship between us warrants this kind of abuse of the Captain--know right now that it does not! This isn’t the time or place for a discussion of our personal relationship, Seven, but you can’t seem to separate it from our professional working relationship and perhaps part of that is my fault. So I’ll make it easy for you. Our personal relationship does not belong on the bridge or in any part of our professional relationship. Later, when we’re off-duty, I think that we are going to have to reassess whether pursuing a personal relationship is the right thing for us, but I have to tell you, right now, it’s looking more and more like a mistake!”

Seven gaped at him, tears rolling silently down her cheeks as the realisation of what he was saying sank in. She looked from him to Tuvok, then back again. Her face clouded with fury.

“You’re breaking up with me!” she demanded angrily. She laughed--an ugly cruel sound. “You think that breaking up with me will make the Captain want you?”

“No Seven, that isn’t it at all,” he began tiredly.

“Isn’t it?” She laughed hysterically again and Chakotay’s expression changed to one of concern as he reached for her arm. She jerked it away. “You never cared for me--did you? You just used me to make her jealous and now that you think you’ve done it, you think that she’ll want you! Well, she won’t! She’d rather have intercourse with Tuvok, before she would have you!” 

She turned to Tuvok with that same cruel laugh; he fought to remain impassive. He should have realised that if she’d compromised Chakotay’s codes, she probably had done the same to his own and even the Captain’s.

“Oh, I forgot,” she said, smiling with cold, studied innocence. “She did have intercourse with Tuvok.” 

It was Chakotay’s turn to stare speechlessly in shock. The blood drained from his face as his eyes pleaded with Tuvok’s to deny her accusations. Tuvok could only meet his gaze with a dignity that spoke of over a century of Vulcan practice. The betrayal in Chakotay’s eyes became as painful to behold as watching blood flow from an open wound. Tuvok wondered if the human man he counted as a friend would ever understand. 

“How do you humans put it?” Seven asked rhetorically as she looked at Chakotay. She was enjoying the results of her cruelty--revelling in it even. “Oh yes, fucking. Kathryn Janeway fucked Tuvok right under your nose! While you were agonising over whether to fuck me, your Kathryn--your hypocritical Captain--was happily fucking Tuvok!”

“That is enough, Seven,” Tuvok said, breaking his immobility at last. He would not allow Kathryn’s gift to be dishonoured or made into something dirty. “You have no idea what you’re talking about and I hope that you will refrain from repeating these accusations.”

“Are you denying that you had sex with the Captain on Stardate 55234.8?” she shouted, face contorted with hatred.

“My relationship with Captain Janeway is none of your business,” Tuvok said impassively. “However, this blatant abuse of your position on this ship to bypass the security protocols and wholesale invasion of privacy is my business. And your stated intention to continue to flaunt the rules that everyone on this ship abides by is my business.”

“An infant could bypass your rudimentary security protocols!” she sneered.

“Do you or do you not intend to carry out the Captain’s orders and implement Ensign Celes’ protocols?” Chakotay asked quietly and Seven turned to him with an annoyed look--as if she’d forgotten his presence.

“I do not!” she shouted contemptuously. “Those orders are ill-conceived and ill-informed. Therefore, they are irrelevant and I will not waste my time implementing the work of an incompetent, ignorant fool!”

“Tuvok, please escort Seven of Nine to the brig,” Chakotay said coldly. “The charges are insubordination for failure to carry out the direct order from the Captain, breaking and entering, and illegal appropriation of command codes for personal use. Charges pending investigation include illegally bypassing security protocols, spying on fellow crewmembers and other instances of invasion of privacy.” 

“What? You can’t do this!” Seven screamed shrilly, seeming to take stock of her position for the first time. “I won’t let you do this!” she screamed charging at Chakotay.

Tuvok’s hand snaked out and found that plexus of nerves and blood vessels to Seven of Nine’s brain and exerted enough pressure to incapacitate her before she could injure Chakotay with her Borg-augmented arm. She crumpled twitching violently, and he caught her with lightening reflexes before she hit the floor.

“Computer, lock onto Seven of Nine and beam her directly to the brig,” Tuvok ordered as Chakotay stared at the young woman in disbelief. “Enact brig protocol Omega-nine-Omicron-one-one-seven.”

“Acknowledged,” the computer replied dispassionately as the young woman disappeared in the shimmer of the transporter beam. “Level 10 force field erected; brig manual lock engaged; transfer of brig functions and protocol to Brig Officer completed.”

“Tuvok to Lieutenant Rollins,” Tuvok called. “Report.”

“Rollins here, Commander,” the Brig Officer replied promptly. “Transport complete. Override functions have been transferred and implemented. The brig is on Maximum Security lockdown until further notice.”

“Excellent,” Tuvok said, holding Chakotay’s gaze. “I will be down shortly to review the protocols for possible long-term arrangements. Tuvok out.” 

“Well those brig enhancements you and Kathryn insisted on after Teero’s attack seem to be going to good use,” Chakotay said bitterly.

“They were prudent precautions,” Tuvok replied noncommittally.

Silence stretched out between him and First Officer as they regarded each other. 

Moments turned into seconds turned into minutes.

“You require an explanation,” Tuvok said at last.

Chakotay’s mouth twisted into a grimace. His eyes were dark and hostile. “You owe me nothing,” he said. “She owes me nothing. What happens between you and Kathryn Janeway is no one’s business but your own. Now please leave.”

“As you wish, Commander,” Tuvok replied turning towards the door. “However, if you do wish answers, I will inform the Doctor to release my medical files to you. Good evening.” 

The muffled clatter and crash emanating from Chakotay’s office was audible on the bridge as the door closed behind Tuvok. Beta shift worked diligently at their stations, but Tuvok knew from experience that they’d heard the raised voices, even if they couldn’t hear what was being said.

“As you were, Mr. Vorik,” Tuvok said to the younger Vulcan as he stood. Vorik nodded respectfully and Tuvok made his way to the lift. He was lost in introspection as it descended; he would have to apprise the Captain of the situation and he knew she would be horrified to learn that Seven had spied on such a private, intimate time. It took all his training to suppress his own outrage and anger; ironically, that had been Kathryn Janeway’s greatest gift to him. 

"A measure of love freely given, must be freely accepted. Then friendship again and that knows no measure."

"Why?" 

"A sacred trust. Do you accept this gift, Tuvok?"

A sacred trust; a priceless Gift. 

He had accepted it from her knowing what it cost her to give it--more than just her body, more than just her mind and more than just her soul. He would not allow a jealous adolescent to use this Gift as a weapon to cause Kathryn Janeway more pain.

He strode into the brig, heading straight for the console. Rollins met his gaze briefly and stepped aside, judging it prudent not to ask any questions. Seven’s life signs were steady and indicated that she had regained consciousness. He looked at the cell’s featureless grey door made of tritanium and a transparent aluminium composite. It was as strong as a bulkhead and would take the ship’s phasers at maximum to cut through it.

He frowned, watching the sensors’ rendition of her movements around the cell. “How long has the door been opaque?” Tuvok asked.

“Only a few minutes, Commander,” Rollins replied. “I scanned her on arrival--she was just coming around and asked for privacy to use the facilities.” 

Tuvok tapped the door control to make it transparent and drew his phaser as he approached the brig cell. The small room was empty.

Rollins drew his own phaser as he peered into the room in confusion. “She must still be in the bathroom,” he said uneasily.

“The sensors indicated she was in the main room,” Tuvok replied as he deactivated the door. The heavy door slid aside and Tuvok deactivated the force field. He cautiously stepped inside and moved to check the small bathroom, which consisted of a sink, toilet and sonic shower. It was clearly empty.

“Computer, location of Seven of Nine,” he called, holstering his phaser and pulling out his tricorder.

“Seven of Nine is in the brig,” was the expected answer.

The tricorder beeped a constant tone; it had found a Borg signature in the wall two metres above the sink mirror. Tuvok shifted his gaze to the affected area--the bathroom sensor had been partially assimilated. He looked down at the tricorder screen; the circuitry of the cell was crawling with nanoprobes reprogramming the sensors. So far the Borg nano-machines seemed to be confined only to the cell. 

Pain burst in his mind like a supernova. “Tuvok to Ayala!” he called racing from the brig.

#

The Captain’s quarters solidified around her. It was cool and quiet, but for the almost imperceptible hum of the engines and soft breathing. Seven’s natural eye adjusted slowly to the low ambient light, but her enhanced Borg eye had no trouble processing every detail obscured by darkness. 

A half-finished infant’s blanket in bright primary colours and decorated with juvenile specimens of Ursidae along the boarder, lay across one arm of the sofa; a large wicker basket of cloth scraps sat on the floor between the coffee table and the sofa. A small, plain cup the colour of desert sand, which had been lying on the floor between the armchairs earlier, sat on the edge of the coffee table. 

Soundlessly, she followed the soft breathing to the open threshold between the living and sleeping areas. She studied the scene for a few long minutes. The Captain’s slight figure as she lay on her side, close to one edge of the large bed, faced the opposite bulkhead separating her quarters from her neighbour’s. Chakotay’s wall. 

From her body’s vital signs, Seven could tell that Janeway was not yet fully asleep and hovered between consciousness and unconsciousness, completely vulnerable. The Captain’s blue--cornflower blue, the memory of her mother’s laughing voice prompted her--nightclothes was trimmed in white lace. She shook her head as if to free her mind of the insidious, inconvenient memory. Her parents had been incompetent, irresponsible fools and she had paid the ultimate price!

As if slapped awake by Seven’s sudden movement, Janeway sat up in bed, eyes unfocused and disoriented.

“Is someone there?” she managed to call out before Seven leapt on her, pinning her back onto the bed and covering her mouth with a brutal hand. 

For a moment, her victim’s eyes were wild and frightened as she struggled. Seven savoured Janeway’s vulnerability--so different now from the arrogant Captain. But all too soon the Captain was back, the hardness flashing in her eyes, commanding Seven to let her go. 

The need to smash that hardness overwhelmed Seven and she felt a certain satisfaction as her fist connected with the Captain’s face, glancing off the cheekbone and ramming into her patrician nose.

The hoarse cry was truncated by another cry in a higher register and then it was like Seven stood outside herself, watching her own body--a puppet now to her rage--as it smashed away at the Captain with Borg enhanced strength and fury. 

Janeway tried to curl into ball to protect her vulnerable chest and abdomen from further blows. Seven watched in detached fascination as her augmented hand came down like a hammer to the other woman’s right kidney. Beneath her, the Captain stiffened, her body arched backward in a rictus of pain as she screamed and screamed, exposing what she sought to protect. The long, white column of Janeway’s neck caught Seven’s attention. Her hands wrapped around it of their own volition. Janeway clawed desperately at her, her actions becoming weaker and more ineffectual as her strength ebbed. 

The terror in Kathryn Janeway’s eyes fed a hunger deep within Seven. A hunger she hadn’t known existed--or perhaps hadn’t acknowledged till now. The need to smash, hurt, destroy, fuelled by her terrible anger. 

Seven wasn’t aware until that moment that she too was screaming--screaming her hatred and jealousy and anger and fear no words could articulate.

“I hate YOU!

“I hate you! You ruined my life! You ruined everything!”

Then she was crying and she didn’t know why as tears rolled unbidden down her cheeks onto the battered, bloody body beneath her. Tears blurred her vision; a keening wail deafened her before she realised that it issued from her own throat and that she didn’t know how to stop it.

Suddenly it stopped. She stopped. And before she registered the phaser blast, another enveloped her and the universe . . . stopped.

#

Sickbay was in chaos when Chakotay arrived. He started forward and felt Tuvok’s iron grip on his arm. Angrily, Chakotay turned and opened his mouth to protest the Vulcan’s interference, but the eloquent pain in the other man’s eyes stopped him. Suddenly, Tuvok’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed heavily against a startled Chakotay who barely caught him in time. Behind him Chakotay heard the long, piercing tone--the Sickbay’s own harbinger of death--as one of Kathryn’s monitors wailed. 

Distantly he heard the Doctor’s shout for cardiac regulator and for Paris to ramp up the gain on the neuro-cortical stimulator.

“Tuvok?” Chakotay croaked hoarsely. “Tuvok!”

Tuvok’s eyes fluttered open. “Everything is as it should be,” he whispered. Chakotay stared at him in confusion as he struggled for control and moved out of Chakotay’s embrace. “I’m fine, Commander,” he said; the ashy tinge to his complexion belied his statement.

It was then that Chakotay knew that whatever had happened between Kathryn and Tuvok, it was more than mere fucking; Tuvok had felt her pain.

“However, if you do wish answers, I will inform the Doctor to release my medical files to you.”

The medical-alert tone ended and the flurry of activity around Kathryn’s bed stopped. The sudden absence of sound jerked Chakotay around. Paris leaned against the bulkhead, his head bowed, but his shaking shoulders told Chakotay all he needed to know without having to see the younger man’s tears. 

Wildman was more open with her emotions, drying her tears as she moved over to check Seven’s vitals while the Doctor finished adjusting Kathryn’s monitors. A force field flared into existence around the bed. Chakotay met the holographic man’s hard gaze with a sense of dread. 

The Doctor passed through the field and stalked over to Chakotay and Tuvok. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

“How is Kathryn?” Chakotay asked.

“She’s stabilised and we’ve stopped the internal bleeding,” the Doctor replied grimly. “Her cortical functions are good, but her heart stopped twice and she has three fractured ribs and a pulverised kidney that we can’t regenerate until she’s stronger. She’s on life support and the nephretic unit will do for now, but I hope to get in there within the next forty-eight hours to repair the kidney.” 

Chakotay nodded as he looked over to Kathryn’s bed; the Doctor repeated his question. “What is going on?”

Chakotay looked at Tuvok then took a deep breath before launching into an abbreviated account of the evening’s events. The holographic physician’s eyes widened as Ayala reported on Seven’s vicious beating of the Captain and her hysteria when she realised what she was doing.

“It was like she knew what she was doing,” Ayala said as the Doctor hurried over to scan Seven. “But she couldn’t stop herself. And then she just started screaming.”

Chakotay and Tuvok looked at the physician in shock as he repeated, “Oh no . . . oh no! No! She didn’t! She couldn’t have!” as he worked quickly at his instruments

“Doctor!” Chakotay said in concern. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with Seven?” The holographic man looked up bleakly from the console; Chakotay could swear there were tears in his eyes.

“She came to me,” he said hoarsely. Again the incongruity of that emotion-laden voice hit Chakotay. Hueristic vocal processors didn’t get hoarse. “She wanted to experience a wider range of emotions and she was aware that she couldn’t with her cortical node intact.”

“So you turned it off?” Chakotay bellowed in disbelief.

“Of course not!” the Doctor returned indignantly. “That would have killed her! Even turning off the failsafe circuitry governing her emotions like she wanted would have been too dangerous. I found a safe way to gradually step down the amount of governing the implant gave her based on the amount of emotion she experienced.” He looked pleadingly at Chakotay. “I warned her it would take years before the process was complete. And even then, because her body had been regulated by it for so long, especially through puberty, the implant would continue to provide low-level emotional control, possibly for the rest of her life.”

Chakotay forced himself to calm down and nodded; the Doctor would never do anything to deliberately hurt Seven. “Go on Doctor,” he prompted gently. 

“For all intents and purposes, she would have been free of its influence in three to five years. In fact that background level of emotional governing would continue to decrease, although it could never reach zero while the implant still regulated much of her nervous and bodily systems. With the level of our technology at the moment, there’s simply no way around it--at least no safe way,” the Doctor said quietly.

“I take it she’s turned off the implant’s emotional safeguards,” Tuvok stated, regarding the pale young woman.

The Doctor nodded. “She must have done it sometime in the last two months,” he replied. “After her last check-up with me. She was less than forthcoming about her emotional state, but did report that she felt irrational spurts of anger and other emotions more often now, and hated the loss of control they represented.” He laughed bitterly. “I told her she couldn’t have it both ways--she couldn’t expect to experience the full range of human emotion and still keep her famous Borg control. She would simply have to learn to control herself the way humans did--which was part of the reason I had programmed the implant to release its influence over her gradually as she learned to deal with her emotions. She found it all inconvenient.”

“How could she have deteriorated so badly without us noticing?” Tom Paris asked. 

“When I got there she was just pounding on the Captain and screaming that she hated her and that the Captain had ruined everything,” Ayala said hoarsely.

The Doctor looked thoughtfully at the monitor. “You have to understand, dealing with emotions on her own for the first time has consequences for Seven that it would never have for someone who’s dealt with them all her life. Physiologically and psychologically. Perhaps more so than even for a Vulcan, who has emotions but keeps them under tight control--self-imposed control. For Seven, that control has always been external; internal self-control was almost a non-concept to her when she first came on board. Over the last four years, she started to learn some of that internal control and stepping down the implant’s safeguards should have allowed that learning to continue over a wider range of emotions. But with the safeguards turned off there was nothing to help her level off those extremes in hormone production. Therefore, having none of the mental processes most humans build up over a lifetime of experience to deal with hormones, their associated biochemical cascades and the subsequent emotions they induce--” he shrugged.

“Something as simple to you, Commander, as realising that Paris’ sense of humour is nothing but a minor irritant and shrugging it off automatically by controlling your breathing, calming your heart rate or even counting to ten on occasion, is something she can’t effectively do. Those association areas of her brain are relatively undifferentiated--immature. Her emotions build up, and as often happens with small children, gets channelled into her rage because she doesn’t cognitively know how to process it and the resultant chemical imbalance can result in a host of psychological consequences, one of which is the idee-fixe--obsession. And if I’m correct Seven has developed an unhealthy fixation on Captain Janeway as a rival for your affections, Commander.” 

Chakotay’s jaw tightened as the Doctor continued dispassionately. “In most cases, human beings deal with emotional upheavals without being consciously aware of what they’re doing or that they are affecting their brain chemistry. You eat, sleep and breathe your emotions every day of your life--she hasn’t had to in any form for eighteen years. And since being separated from the Collective, apart from the occasional malfunction of the implant, she’s only had to deal with a limited range and intensity of emotions,” he said. 

Chakotay couldn’t help feeling that they were looking accusingly at him and his stomach roiled. In terms of real emotional maturity, Seven of Nine was a teenager--if even that--and what he’d done in his quest for--what? Revenge on Kathryn? He had to face it--even though she’d been the one to instigate it, his relationship with Seven was unconscionable. Even if it had started simply as boost to his ego because he was flattered by her attention, he couldn’t help feeling like a heel now for acting on her feelings towards him. Again, he heard B’Elanna’s voice in his mind. 

"I don't presume to know what goes on in your head, Chakotay, but you'd better figure out pretty quick what you're doing before you do a lot of damage--to yourself and to those two women. If you're using Seven to get back at Janeway, then you're not the man I thought you were." 

He’d figured it out far too late. He wasn’t the man he’d thought he was.

“From my readings of her hormone levels now,” the Doctor said studying the console once more. “And extrapolating from them, the cocktail of she had flooding her brain was enough to induce a psychotic event that I can only compare to what was once called “Roid Rage”.” 

Chakotay and the others looked at him in confusion. 

“Back in the late twentieth to mid-twenty-first centuries,” the Doctor explained, “some athletes used to take performance enhancing substances to obtain an edge during competitions. It started with anabolic steroids and progressed on to increasingly nasty compounds with some rather horrific side effects that were felt for generations before the practice was finally stopped once and for all. But almost from the beginning, many of the artificial steroids and hormones induced psychotically aggressive behaviours in athletes who took them and in some cases the victims of “Roid Rage” attacks were killed--literally beaten to death.”

“Oh God,” Wildman whispered, face white as she stared in disbelief at Seven.

“Can you help her, Doctor,” Chakotay asked hoarsely. “Can you reactivate the failsafe circuitry?”

The Doctor looked away, troubled. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Commander,” he said. “I can restore her brain chemistry’s balance--in fact it’s happening as we speak, but she’s literally burnt out those circuits and their connections to her pituitary, as well as other hormone regulation and cortical centres. I can try to duplicate that circuitry, but it will take time for me to learn how or if it’s even feasible to do so. It may be impossible to rewrite a Borg implant to such an extent and if I damage it further, I certainly won’t be able to replace it. You have to remember that she only has this one because of Icheb’s sacrifice.” Chakotay nodded dumbly at him. “As it is, I’ll have to check and make sure the implant’s other systems haven’t been compromised by this stunt.”

“Doctor, why is it that no report of this procedure to step down Seven’s failsafe circuitry was presented to the Captain and the Senior Staff for evaluation before performing it,” Tuvok demanded harshly. “It was an untested procedure and at the very least, the Captain should have been informed before attempting to implement it.”

The Doctor glanced from Tuvok to Chakotay and hesitated. There was a long moment of silence before he said, “Doctor-patient confidentiality, Commander.”

“I submit that doctor-patient confidentiality no longer applies here, Doctor,” Tuvok replied. “By your own admission, we may have a dangerously psychotic individual on our hands who has fixated on the Captain as some sort of enemy or at the very least, a sexual rival. She has brutally attacked Captain Janeway once and may do so again if given another opportunity. She has blatantly stated to Commander Chakotay and I that we can’t keep her out of any ship’s system, despite any security rating we could give her. And she’s amply demonstrated that by her ability to hack Chakotay’s command codes and using them to break into the Captain’s quarters, and by using her nanoprobes to assimilate our systems so she could break out of the maximum security brig and attack the Captain.”

The Doctor stared at him in genuine shock. 

“Furthermore, she has bragged about other instances of gross transgressions that I would prefer not discuss until after a thorough investigation of her activities. Now, why was an untested, experimental procedure performed without proper consultation, Doctor?”

The Doctor was silent for a few more minutes, then lifted his head. “Lieutenants Paris, Wildman and Ayala, dismissed,” he said. Paris regarded him in surprise for a moment before turning and following the other two out.

“What is this about, Doctor?” Chakotay asked, dreading the answer.

“When I told her that I intended to inform the Captain of the procedure, Seven argued that to do so would encroach on her privacy and civil liberties, and that it would be a violation of the Federation’s patient privacy statutes,” the Doctor replied.

“How so?” Tuvok asked.

“Understand that the procedure I performed was perfectly safe,” he said earnestly. “My ethical subroutines would not have allowed me to proceed if they were not. The procedure had little to do with what happened today except the unforeseen effect--unforeseen on my part--of making her impatient for more sensations before she could handle them.”

“But that’s something we could have pointed out to you had we known what was going on!” Chakotay said angrily.

“Could you?” the Doctor retorted, pointedly staring into Chakotay’s eyes. “Hindsight’s always twenty-twenty, Commander.” 

Chakotay knew what the Doctor saw in his eyes--guilt for having started a relationship with Seven in the first place and not stopping to consider the consequences. 

“It never occurred to me that she would deliberately turn the failsafe off,” he continued quietly. “She knew how dangerous it was to do so. Seven argued that the Captain had no right to know about therapies she might use to alleviate her sexual dysfunction any more than she had the right to know about any other crewmember’s therapy. She felt sexually inadequate in romantic situations, beyond simply being inexperienced, and felt it was manifested in her inability to respond properly with the failsafe always dampening the emotions she did feel. By stepping down the failsafe, she would be able feel emotions and learn to process them appropriately. She pointed out that matters having to do with her sex life were her private business and as such should remain strictly between us, hence the doctor-patient confidentiality.” 

“Thus tying your hands quite neatly,” Tuvok observed. 

“Logical to the end,” Chakotay said bitterly.

“In retrospect, I realize now that she was probably very jealous of the Captain even before I performed the procedure. Left unchecked, it’s possible that her jealousy became overwhelming and developed into psychosis as time went on and she began to experience emotions with greater frequency and intensity,” he admitted. “But even so, I don’t understand what could have driven her to such a drastic measure as completely deactivating the implant’s failsafe.”

Chakotay scrubbed his face tiredly with one hand. “I think she did it because she might have feared that she was losing me and that the only way to compete with Kathryn for my affections was to become more human--” 

“Which she logically interpreted to mean more emotionally responsive,” Tuvok said.

Chakotay nodded. “I knew that she was jealous of my relationship with Kathryn--it was impossible not to notice it--and I did what I could to help her work through those emotions. I’d stopped seeing Kathryn as much--it was too difficult.” 

Difficult for whom? his conscience prodded. 

“About two weeks ago I started to notice that Seven was more emotional than usual; then one night I returned to my quarters to find her there,” he said in a soft voice. “She was wearing a negligee and announced it was time for us to engage in sexual intercourse.” Tuvok’s face was impassive, but the Doctor’s eyes narrowed angrily. 

“I’m not so far-gone that I can’t tell when a woman isn’t ready to have sex no matter what she thinks--I told her no,” he said, holding the Doctor’s hard gaze. “She was armed with all kinds of statistics on the average length of human liaisons and how many goddamned kisses had been shared before initiation of sexual relations! She took it as a rejection because she had been Borg and accused me of still being in love with Kathryn. I explained that it had nothing to do with it, that she was sexually naïve and that we had to wait until the time was right for her--we hadn’t even had our first public date yet.” He smiled bitterly again. “That’s when she suggested Paris’ party; the date had completely slipped my mind. In retrospect, I doubt it slipped her mind that it was Kathryn’s birthday.”

“Then tonight, after being abusive towards the Captain and refusing to carry out orders, you told her that if she could not distinguish between your personal and professional relationships, you and she would have to re-evaluate your personal relationship,” Tuvok said thoughtfully. “She took that to mean you were breaking up with her, becoming even more irrational and trying to attack you before I transported her to the brig.”

“The last straw that broke the camel’s back,” the Doctor muttered. 

He looked down at Seven and on his face was a look that told Chakotay all he needed to know; the Doctor was in love with her. This trick of light and computer programming had more love for Seven of Nine contained in force fields and holo-matrices than Chakotay had for her in his entire being.

“The best thing I can do for her is keep her sedated for the next few days,” he continued, meeting Chakotay’s gaze again. “I’ll try to come up with a stop-gap measure to keep her stable while I’m researching ways to rebuild the failsafe. But the first thing on my agenda is the Captain--getting her into surgery and back on the mend. That will mean at least two weeks of complete rest--because although she might dispute it, at forty-five her body can’t bounce back from trauma as severe as this overnight.”

#

B’Elanna found him in one corner of the airponics bay contemplating the roses. No matter how much time passed, she found that she could never think of this place as anything but Kes’ domain. If the Ocampan had stayed with Voyager she would be middle-aged now and heading quickly for that age limit of nine short years that marked her ephemeral species.

She studied Chakotay’s dark head; his hair was sprinkled with gray. Her heart tightened with tenderness. She had made her peace somewhat with the father who had abandoned her, but Chakotay remained more of a father to her than Joseph Torres had ever been.

Father, brother, friend--once upon a time she had even considered him for a lover. So many times I’ve asked so much of him and he’s always been there, she thought as she watched him scrub exhaustion from his eyes with the heels of his palms.

“Come to say I told you so?” His voice was bitter--hollow; he didn’t look at her. It was guaranteed to get her hackles up, but as her temper rose she realised that was what he wanted--someone to yell at him . . . someone to blame him. A strange sort of absolution in a way.

“Say ten Hail Marys, promise never to do IT again and all your sins are forgiven”. “It” had encompassed a multitude of sins.

Her Klingon mother, who had never understood her husband’s human hypocrisies, had disapproved of young B’Elanna going to church. B’Elanna hadn’t thought of it in years and wasn’t sure why she did so now.

“No,” she said quietly and sat down on the bench next to him. She waited for him to speak again. Tom had told her what Seven had done--described Janeway’s horrific injuries in detail, so she understood something of what Chakotay was going through. And in a very real way he was very much to blame, but she knew instinctively that he wouldn’t see what even Janeway would tell him; it takes three to make a triangle.

“Shit,” he whispered. She put her arms around his broad shoulders and held him.

#

“You can’t be serious, Doctor,” Chakotay said in shock as he studied the holographic physician’s grim face; even Tuvok reacted with uncharacteristic emotion at the Doctor’s prognosis. “We can’t just leave her like that!”

“No, we can’t,” a soft hoarse voice said from behind them. Chakotay whipped around at the sound of Kathryn’s voice. She was more pale and worn out than he’d ever seen her look.

The Doctor hurried over to check Kathryn’s monitor. As she tried to sit up, he placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. Despite her determination to sit up, Chakotay could see her relief at being forced to lie back down.

“Captain, I don’t think you understand--” the physician began.

“I understand perfectly,” she replied; there was steel in her voice despite its softness. “Seven has deactivated her implant’s failsafe control over her biochemical balance and as a result, cannot control her emotions and has become prone to fits of extreme violence. You, Doctor, believe that the only way to control her now is to hardwire a shunt from the control centre of the implant to the cybernetic relay terminus, therefore bypassing the damaged circuit. However, since you cannot duplicate the fine control the circuit provided, this shunt will in effect be an on/off switch. Either she will have all her emotions at full throttle or she will have none at all--be a drone again. A drone under our control--under my control.”

She held Chakotay’s gaze; she’d been awake and listening to the entire conversation. “I’m no Borg Queen,” she said harshly. “I won’t do that to her again. I won’t take from her everything she has struggled so hard to accomplish--to become. You of all people, Doctor, should understand that. I’ve learned my lessons well.” 

The Doctor threw her a startled look. 

“I’m no longer master over your program--I haven’t been for a long time. How many times in your effort to expand beyond the parameters of your programming have you come up against a potentially fatal interaction that threatens your system. And how many times have you asked that I turn back the clock when you became too frightened to forge ahead. The one time I tried to, I nearly destroyed everything you are! But each time I refused to allow the genie to be put back in its bottle, you’ve managed to evolve past your limitations and as a result have surpassed your original programming a thousand-fold. You have gained complete autonomy over your program--over yourself.” 

The Doctor nodded wordlessly. 

“Seven deserves nothing less. I won’t turn back the clock on her,” Kathryn finished quietly. “I can’t! Find another way, Doctor.”

“Yes Captain,” he replied. “However, our options are still limited. The only viable alternative I’ve come up with is a combination of drug therapy in concert with psychological counselling. It’s cruder, but it offers her a good chance at learning to control herself. The biggest drawback to this--why I rejected it in the first place--is that we don’t have a qualified counsellor on board.”

Chakotay recognised immediately that although he was Voyager’s de facto counsellor, he was also at the heart of Seven’s problems and as a result couldn’t act in that capacity.

“What about Vulcan meditative techniques?” Tuvok asked. “I would be willing to instruct her in techniques of emotional control.”

The Doctor looked thoughtful. “It is a possibility,” he admitted after a few moments, “as long as she’s taught control rather than suppression. The consequences of suppressing her emotions could land her right back where she is now or worse--because the next time she loses control, it could result in an episode that would make this one look like a temper tantrum by comparison. As it is, the psychological fallout from this episode is going to bad enough and traumas of this nature tend to have a cumulative effect on a patient’s psyche. That’s why even with your help, Tuvok, I have to insist that we find someone capable of helping her psychologically. For humans, talking through problems is still one of the best ways to deal with them.”

“Perhaps then, you will need someone who is versed in control techniques, yet still understands how to deal with emotional issues,” Tuvok said. “Ensign Ombagi U’Lanai is a fifth level Vulcan Meditative Adept, but she is also three-quarters human.”

“Kill two birds with one stone,” Chakotay said, meeting Kathryn’s hopeful gaze.

“I have always known Ensign U’Lanai to be a well-balanced individual who is thoughtful and compassionate,” Tuvok said raising a characteristic eyebrow. “I will of course require your permission, Captain, to put this proposal before her.”

“By all means, Tuvok,” Kathryn said hoarsely. “But make sure she thoroughly understands the implications of what she’ll be undertaking and that it is, of course, strictly on a voluntary basis.”

“Yes Captain,” he replied. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll speak to her immediately.” At Kathryn’s nod, the security chief turned and strode out of the sickbay.

There was something indefinable in the Doctor’s eyes as he looked from Chakotay to Kathryn and finally to Seven. “I’ll see to the drug schedules,” he said abruptly and retreated to his office.

Chakotay gazed down at Kathryn. If possible, her pallor was even worse now than it had been less than half an hour earlier. “How are you doing?” he asked gently.

“Aside from feeling like I’ve been run over by the proverbial Ferengi transport that stopped and reversed over me again?” she quipped in a pained whisper. “I’ll be all right.”

“Gods I’m sorry, Kathryn--” he began.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” she said firmly. This time the understanding in her eyes filled him with hope, even as his traitorous inner doubt wondered if they were beginning another cycle of games again. Her next words dispelled that doubt.

“No regrets, Chakotay,” she said. “It will only erode what we have left and I don’t want that. We all need to move on from here no matter what direction we each take.”

“And what direction will you take, Kathryn?” he asked.

Her eyes were troubled. “I don’t know,” she replied after a long moment. Then she smiled. “That’s the thing about directions; the direction you think you’re going in may not be the direction in which you’re really going. To find out, you have to make the journey--”

“And even then, only by the Prophets’ Grace will you know at journey’s end in which direction you were going,” he completed the Bajoran proverb. “Kai Opaka was a wise woman,” he said hoarsely. 

#


	8. Picking up the pieces

Kathryn had left sickbay and was comfortably settled in her quarters before the Doctor allowed Seven to regain consciousness. Chakotay stood by her bedside and watched her slowly wake up from her drug-induced sleep. She turned her head and met his gaze. A smile lit up her features--the guile-less, child-like smile of an innocent.

 

The smile was fleeting though; it rapidly dissolved into confusion as she realised where she was. “Chakotay?” she whispered as the doors opened and Tuvok and U’Lanai entered. “What happened? What am I doing in sickbay? Why is Tuvok here?”

 

He forced himself to let go of his anger and recriminations. He wasn’t a blameless bystander; he had no right to sit in judgement of her. “What do you remember, Seven?” he asked quietly.

 

“About what?” she asked. “I don’t understand--everything’s a jumble . . . all my thoughts and memories!” She was starting to panic now, her breath coming in short, hoarse gasps. “I was so angry . . . Why was I so angry, Chakotay?”

 

“You remember being angry?” he prodded.

 

“Yes!”

 

“Who were you angry with?”

 

The fear in her wild, blue eyes broke his heart as she struggled to get up, only to find herself restrained by the bio-bed’s immobility field.

 

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

 

“Please, Seven,” the Doctor said gently. “Try to calm down.” Her eyes brimmed with tears as she looked up mutely at him.

 

“What was the last thing you remember?” Chakotay persisted, ignoring the Doctor’s glare, but knowing he was coming dangerously close to pushing her further than the physician--and indeed Kathryn, were she there--would like.

 

Her eyes looked through him as she searched her memories. “Ensign Celes handed in her report--it was sloppily done. I ordered her to redo it properly,” she said bluntly.

 

“Then what happened?” Chakotay asked after she’d been silent a few minutes.

 

“She refused to do the work, became insubordinate . . . told me that she was off-duty and that if I wanted it done again to do it myself . . . if I had a problem with her work to take it up with the Captain!” Seven struggled to get the words out. “Then they were laughing at meee!” she wailed, tears coursing down her face.

 

“Why were they laughing at you?” Tuvok asked.

 

“I d-don’t know,” she cried in confusion. “They’re always laughing--telling jokes that I don’t understand . . . m-mocking me! As they were leaving, Ensign Celes angrily asked Lieutenant Delaney “What the hell is eating her?” But Delaney just laughed and answered, “Not what--who?” Then she said, “Or maybe that’s the problem. Despite the goods on display, he hasn’t bellied up to the Swedish Smorgasbord to chow down. Something tells me he prefers good Irish coffee much more!” And--and then they left, laughing at me and I didn’t understand why!”

 

The undeniable crudity implicit in Jenny Delaney’s calculatedly cruel barb was not lost on Chakotay. It was calculated to lose Seven though. All she would know was that they were making fun of her at her expense, but with her failsafe turned off and her cancerous jealousy, things that neither Delaney nor Celes could have known, it was enough to set her off like sensor-guided missile straight at Kathryn. Everything else that had happened that night had provided another number in the detonation sequence--he’d simply provided the last digit in the sequence by threatening to break up with her.

 

“So you went the Captain’s quarters,” Tuvok prompted.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Even though you were specifically told that the Captain was not to be disturbed for the evening,” Tuvok persisted.

 

“I-I was angry,” she tried to explain, her confusion plain on her face. “I wanted her to remove Celes from the Astrometrics rotation roster for her insubordination and sub-standard work! But the Captain ignored me!” Seven said harshly, ice-blue eyes hard and angry. “She wouldn’t answer my hails even though the computer indicated that she was not asleep.”

 

“So you broke into Captain Janeway’s quarters,” Tuvok pressed her, “invaded her privacy.”

 

“I _needed_ to talk to her!” Seven shouted sulkily.

 

“How long have you had my command codes?” Chakotay asked quietly. She looked away, but there was no shame in her body language. “How long, Seven?”

 

“Since our twelfth date, four months ago,” she replied defiantly meeting his gaze. He blanched and stared at her in disbelief.

 

“I’ve changed it twice since then,” he said hoarsely. She said nothing. Each time she’d probably acquired them again within ten minutes of him changing them. “Tell me, did you read my logs too?” he raged bitterly.

 

Again, she could not meet his gaze; this time he couldn’t tell if she was ashamed or not. His gut roiled; he wanted to throw up.

 

“And how long have you had my codes?” Tuvok asked with deceptive mildness.

 

“The same length of time,” she answered softly. “Since Stardate 55150.1.”

 

“The Captain’s as well?” Tuvok demanded.

 

“No,” she whispered.

 

“Why not?” Tuvok persisted.

 

She was silent for a long moment. Chakotay met the Doctor’s stricken gaze. Finally, she answered.

 

“I couldn’t break the final encryption sequence--” They stared at her in shock. “The encryption isn’t Starfleet; it’s predicated on questions I had no answers to and her code blocks are set up in such a way that they’re useless without the encrypted part. I could mimic her voice authorisation and I could program my nanoprobes to mimic her bio-signature, but I couldn’t get her command codes. I set up an algorithm to figure out the possible answers to her questions, but they keep changing randomly every few weeks and the program could find no point of congruence except for identifying the latest one as a type of doggerel called a limerick and another as a riddle. Even then I couldn’t find the answers to them in the database.”

 

Chakotay laughed. Tuvok’s eyebrow shot up at his explosion of hilarity and Seven glared at him pointedly, but he couldn’t help it--it was too delicious to be borne! _Limericks_! Talk about stumping the Borg. The one thing the Borg never had use for--the one thing _Seven_ never had use for . . . count on Kathryn to use humour as an encryption key!

 

“What was it, Seven?” he gasped out between giggles; behind him U’Lanai smothered her own laughter by placing her hand over her mouth. Seven looked at Chakotay in confusion as he brought his laughter under control. “What was the limerick?” he clarified.

 

“I don’t see what relevance it could have,” she said petulantly.

 

“Just tell me.”

 

_There once was a Barbie from Borg,_

_Whose Queen stuck a torpedo up her org--_

_Mistress Le Pain finally found her,_

_Blindfolded, gagged and bound her,_

_Asking “Ever tongue a Bullfrog dans la Rue Morgue?”_

 

Chakotay could only stare at her in disbelief. There was no doubt in his mind that Kathryn had made that dirty little gem up to be as impenetrable to Seven as Jenny Delaney’s wisecrack had been. Furthermore, unless he missed his guess, it would have a very private meaning to Kathryn. But worse, Seven didn’t even seem to realise that it was aimed directly at her.

 

“It seemed to require a simple “yes or no” answer,” Seven continued in frustration. “But neither worked and numbers didn’t work--nothing I could possibly think up to answer it worked. Why would anyone want to lick an amphibian in a morgue?”

 

“That you’ll have to ask the Captain,” Chakotay said.

 

“We are getting rather far afield, Commander,” Tuvok said repressively. “Seven, you attacked Captain Janeway that night--”

 

Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief again.

 

“Why?” Tuvok demanded.

 

“I didn’t!” she protested.

 

“You beat the Captain to within an inch of her life with your bare hands,” Chakotay said, all mirth gone from his voice and deciding not to spare her the truth. “You smashed her face, broke three of her ribs, pulverised her kidney--”

 

“I couldn’t have!” she insisted, her voice hoarse and raw. But Chakotay could hear the doubt creeping into it.

 

The doctor turned the console at her right elbow so that she could see the images of Kathryn’s broken body.

 

“You beat her so severely, Seven,” the Doctor said, his voice hard and devoid of emotion. “Her heart stopped twice before I could get her stabilised. It took intensive regeneration therapy to repair most of her physical injuries and four hours of internal surgery to regenerate and replace her kidney. You nearly killed her, Seven. Why?”

 

Seven’s eyes were glued to the console; Kathryn’s battered face--unrecognisable with eyes swollen shut--was on it. Chakotay watched the horrible realisation dawn for the former Borg woman. Tears ran down her face unchecked and her breath came in hoarse, wrenching sobs.

 

“Why did you deactivate your implant’s failsafe?” Tuvok persisted.

 

“I’m s-sooorrrrry!” she cried wretchedly.

 

“That isn’t good enough, Seven!” the Doctor said angrily. “You coerced me into stepping down the emotional governing it gave and you _knew_ that it would take time before you were ready to start experiencing the full range of emotions!”

 

“I thought I could handle it!” she wailed. “I only meant to deactivate it for a short time--I thought that instead of the slow, inefficient process of easing its influence by stepping it down, I could turn it off for short periods of time and build up a tolerance for strong emotions in that fashion.”

 

“What?” the Doctor gasped in disbelief.

 

“I used the cognitive integrator from my alcove to deactivate and reactivate it a number of times,” she explained calming down a bit. “I could feel myself being liberated, yet paradoxically gaining a measure of control over my emotions--mastering them--I don’t know what happened, but I guess it didn’t work the way I thought it would.”

 

She gazed steadily at Chakotay; he could see the wheels turning behind her calculating blue eyes. “I know I must be punished for what I did, Chakotay,” she said. “But I want you and the Captain to know how sorry I am about this. As soon as possible, I will reactivate the failsafe circuitry. I promise I’ll allow the Doctor’s program to run its course this time.”

 

The room was quiet for a few long moments; long enough to agitate her again. “What is wrong?” she demanded. “I know that the Captain must be angry and that I must be punished. But I said that I was sorry and once the failsafe is reactivated, it won’t happen again--I promise!”

 

“It’s not that simple,” Chakotay said. She stared at him in confusion.

 

The Doctor’s voice was hard as he spoke. “You can’t just put this genie back in the bottle. Did you ever consider that the Borg wouldn’t want their drones to have implants with emotional governors that could be turned off and on willy-nilly?”

 

Her eyes widened with terror and realisation. “No,” she whispered.

 

“The failsafe circuit wasn’t designed to take such stress, Seven,” the Doctor continued more compassionately now. “You burnt it out either when you turned it off this last time, or due to some feedback surge as a consequence of turning it off and on repeatedly. There’s nothing left to reactivate.”

 

“You’re wrong!” she insisted struggling against the restraining field again like a frightened bird in a trap. “You have to fix it!” she cried and then began to scream--shrill, piercing screams of pure panic.

 

The Doctor tried to calm her down, but she only became more hysterical. Chakotay stepped away from the bio-bed to allow him room to work. Finally, the physician had no choice but to sedate her. He met Chakotay’s gaze.

 

“That should keep her out for a few hours,” he said. “When she wakes up next, I want to start her on a regimen of mood stabilisers and once she’s released, I’ll keep her on a bio-monitor to be safe.”

 

“When do you think that might be?” Chakotay asked soberly.

 

“As early as tomorrow,” the Doctor answered and seeing the First Officer’s frown, continued hastily as he ushered them into his office. “It’s really the best thing.”

 

“The Doctor is right,” U’Lanai said speaking for the first time as they all sat down. “Actually, her getting hysterical is a good sign, believe it or not--it means she’s recognises that she’s facing a scary prospect. I’d have been more concerned if she’d clamped down and tried to go all “Borg” on us.”

 

Chakotay nodded and the young woman smiled at him. “I’ll be here when she wakes up again and explain everything to her, sir,” she continued. “Now that she knows what happened, her guilt factor--and not to mention her humiliation factor--is going to go through the roof. It will help ease that to some degree if it comes from a relative stranger--someone she has no real emotional investment in.”

 

“Understood,” Chakotay replied.

 

“Good,” U’Lanai said. “Commander Tuvok will let her know what formal charges will be laid under the circumstances, what her punishment will be and we’ll explain the parameters of my counselling. For the next week or so, I’d like you to keep your distance,” she said firmly, holding Chakotay’s gaze. “I don’t mean for you to go out of your way to avoid her, but I don’t think that it would be a good idea for you to seek her out until she can manage to hold her own for more than a few minutes. I think you realise that it’s going to be a long, hard road, sir--”

 

Chakotay could only nod again as she continued. “One thing that probably led to this situation was that her Borg emotional governor gave the impression--to Seven herself and to everyone on this ship--that there was an emotional adult, albeit a naïve one, inside that very adult body of hers. From everything that’s happened, what Tuvok described to me and from what I saw here today, I’d place her emotional age right now at somewhere around age thirteen or fourteen--”

 

Chakotay couldn’t help the gasp of horror that escaped his lips; deep down he’d known it, but it was still a shock to hear someone else voice it.

 

She looked at him with something akin to pity before it dissolved into her placid Vulcan veneer. “That isn’t your fault, sir,” she said firmly. “Had she not turned off the failsafe or even if she had allowed the Doctor to continue gradually stepping down the failsafe, I doubt there would have been much to worry about on that score. By all standards of human interaction, six months ago, she was effectively the equivalent of a young adult able to give informed consent based on her level of emotional maturity at the time she initiated this relationship with you. Simply because that . . . “maturity”, if you will, was due to her implant rather than years of experience, doesn’t make it any less real or valid, Commander, nor does it make those emotions she felt at the beginning of your relationship any less real.

 

“There have been well-documented cases where a normal, healthy woman for example, with thirty-odd adult years of experience, has lost her memories due to a head trauma--and in one case due to a phaser set on stun--to become, in effect a thirteen-year-old trapped in the body of a forty-five year-old. But that doesn’t invalidate whatever relationships she might have had with a spouse or lover, family or even children, now does it?” she asked gently.

 

“No,” Chakotay replied hoarsely. “But it would change it afterwards.”

 

“Yes,” U’Lanai said. “That can’t be helped--the nature of the injury precludes it. Cognitively, a thirteen-year-old isn’t ready for an adult relationship. Socio-sexual maturity in most societies, like the onset of puberty, has fluctuated over the centuries. On average, in human society of this era, given life span and other factors, children aren’t really considered cognitively or emotionally ready for sexual activity until they’re at least seventeen. Some begin earlier at fifteen or sixteen, while others don’t start till they’re eighteen or nineteen or even well into their twenties if they so choose, but right now the average age for onset of sexual activity is 16.88 years. For the most part, the societal impetus to start having sex at an early age simply isn’t there and it shows in the socialisation of most humans. It gives the species quite a long childhood compared to other more sexually precocious species like the Havenites or Risans.”

 

“Commander,” the Doctor said, meeting Chakotay’s gaze. “As the Captain has told me on more than one occasion, it’s possible to do everything right and still have bad things happen.”

 

“Exactly,” U’Lanai concurred. “You entered into a relationship predicated on the fact that she was a rather naïve young woman entering into her first real relationship--but a young woman none-the-less who knew what she wanted and went after it. That it’s no longer true doesn’t mean that it wasn’t true at one time. And since there’s no way to go back and change it, all we can do now is move forward and a big part of that will be to help Seven move forward from where she’s at now. How quickly she moves forward and with how much pain will depend on you to some extent, Commander.”

 

Chakotay took a deep breath. “I had planned to break it off with her,” he said. “When do you think that would be appropriate? I don’t want her to hurt any more than it has to, but given the circumstances, I don’t want her nursing any illusions either.”

 

U’Lanai nodded. “I think even now, deep down, Seven knows that this relationship will end sooner or later--I would prefer sooner,” she said bluntly. “As you said, you don’t want her harbouring any illusions of happily ever after with you. But as you also said, there’s no reason to hurt her unnecessarily. Since no matter what you do, she’s going to be hurt, why don’t we take it slowly over the next two weeks, gauge her progress and play it by ear? But you’ll certainly have to make a clean break before a month is up. It would be unhealthy to have her entertain her fantasies for any longer than that.”

 

Chakotay scrubbed his face tiredly as the entire mess threatened to overwhelm him. And by his own actions, this was one time he couldn’t take it and dump it in his best friend’s lap. Kathryn had been there for him through Seska’s betrayal, Reiley Fraser’s mind-fuck, Vori brainwashing and even Teero’s assault through Tuvok that led him to perpetrate the greatest assault on her--mutiny! She had not only forgiven his betrayals, but also helped him to get past each upheaval.

 

“Tuvok, Doctor, can you leave us alone for a few minutes?” Chakotay heard the young woman’s request and looked up at her, startled. Tuvok and the Doctor left without comment as U’Lanai and Chakotay continued to stare at each other for a few long minutes.

 

“You’re feeling guilty,” she stated at last. “And that’s normal, but quite frankly you’re not going to help matters if you can’t get past it. I can help you to an extent, but my first priority is Seven and for as long as she needs me, that’s where it’s going to stay. That means, Commander, you’re going to have to be the strong one about this--you’re going to have to work through the crap and the emotional fallout without being able to dump an equal share where it belongs . . . squarely on Seven’s head.

 

“I won’t pretend to understand what she thought she was playing at when she started this--and believe me when I say that it’s obvious to most people that she did initiate it--and I don’t have the time to even start excavating your motivations. But your actions throughout this relationship--from severing all ties to Janeway to refusing to have sex with Seven--showed that you were aware on some level, of the emotional inequalities inherent in getting involved with her. However, an emotional twenty-one year-old knows something of what she’s getting herself into and if you’d broken up with her at that stage, she probably would have given as good as she got and I imagine, come out of it better for the experience.”

 

She smiled ruefully at him and he felt some of the pressure ease from around his heart as he returned a wan smile. “But Commander, through no fault of your own, you’re in effect going to be extricating yourself from the role of a thirteen year-old girl’s first crush--a crush complicated by a mature woman’s recollection of something that had the potential to be much more. There’s nothing to be done about it and you can’t dump any of it on her because she can’t deal with anything but her own emotional upheavals.”

 

“I understand,” he said soberly and this time, she nodded.

 

#

 

Tuvok stood outside the door to the Captain’s quarters, his hand raised--hovering with uncharacteristic hesitancy near the door announcer before pressing it firmly. Again he struggled to suppress the surge of discomfort that he felt each time he thought of having to tell her that Seven had spied on the _fal-tor-voh_. However, it had been two days since Kathryn’s release from sickbay and his sense of duty prevented him from waiting any longer.

 

The door opened and he entered to find the Doctor admonishing her about her eating habits as he scanned her with his medical tricorder.

 

“Ah, Commander,” the Doctor said pressing a hypospray against Kathryn’s neck to deliver its contents. He gathered up his instruments with practiced efficiency. “Perhaps you can persuade her to eat something,” he groused shooting the Captain a pointed look as she curled up on the couch.

 

“I will try, Doctor,” Tuvok replied.

 

Kathryn rolled her eyes expressively as the Doctor left. “Don’t you start harping on me too,” she said.

 

“Then what would you like to eat?” he asked clasping his hands behind his back. “Logically, if we get that task out of the way immediately, then I will have nothing to _harp_ about.”

 

She made a face and stuck her tongue out at him; he raised a questioning eyebrow. “Oh all right!” she huffed, “A cup of beef consommé.”

 

“And perhaps a light sandwich--cucumber?” he suggested, remembering her fondness for the treat her father’s mother had indulged her with as a child.

 

Her expression softened and she nodded; in that moment all masks dropped. He felt her vulnerable emotions as clearly as he had when they were linked. He turned and walked over to the replicator to allow her the privacy to gather herself.

 

She was rubbing her neck and jaw tiredly when he returned with the tray of food. He placed it on the end table closest to her. She ignored the neat triangles of the sandwich and sipped the steaming broth as he sat down in the armchair across from her.

 

“I can’t feel you anymore,” she said quietly. He returned her steady gaze. “When did the bond break?”

 

“When your heart stopped for the second time, it lasted almost two minutes,” Tuvok replied. “It was enough to sever the residual bond.”

 

“Well, that’s one way to get rid of me,” she quipped, but the sadness in her eyes belied the levity in her tone.

 

“That would imply an active role in severing the bond on my part--that is not the case. It simply couldn’t be helped.”

 

“I know,” she admitted. “But it couldn’t have been comfortable for you to always have me spying on your feelings.”

 

He looked directly into her blue eyes and saw unfamiliar oceans reflected in their depths. “Kathryn,” he said gently. “I felt no discomfort from our bond. I am a Vulcan and a married one at that--” She gave him a rueful look. “Before our sojourn in the delta quadrant, I had someone spying on my feelings _and_ my thoughts for the better part of a century. And when we return, I fully expect to have that someone _spying_ on me for another century or more.”

 

A slow smile curled on her lips and it was like watching the sun had come out from behind a dark cloud, gradually revealing its radiance. As he watched her relax, his conscience warred with his compassion and he was almost tempted to ignore what he’d come there to tell her. Conscience won.

 

“But while the loss of emotional privacy resulting from the intimacy of the _fal-tor-voh_ was to be expected, a loss of physical privacy through covert surveillance could not be foreseen,” he said. She blanched, staring at him in utter shock.

 

The resultant explosion when she found her voice again was muted only by her lack of physical strength. “Someone _spied_ on us!” Her outraged shout could not be confused with a question.

 

“Affirmative, Captain,” Tuvok replied taking refuge in his training.

 

Kathryn rose from the couch, her small body taut with rage. “How?” she demanded. Before he could formulate an answer, she shouted, “Who? Who could do something like this?”

 

He watched the answer to her question crash down on her in a sudden avalanche of understanding. “Seven,” she said hoarsely, collapsing weakly onto the couch.

 

“Yes, Captain. She apparently used Borg algorithms to break into Commander Chakotay and my Command Codes.” Kathryn’s face was a study of horror and misery as she nodded for him to continue. “She used Chakotay’s codes to override your door lock that night and mine to override the site to site transporter protocols when she broke out of the brig. From what I could tell, she has had the Commander and I--as well as others on the senior staff to a lesser degree--under surveillance for much of the last four months.”

 

“She was keeping tabs on Chakotay.”

 

“Yes,” he replied, “according to the Doctor, she developed a dangerous fixation on you as a rival for the Commander’s affections and with her failsafe removed her jealousy spiralled out of control. Ironically, because of the way you encrypted your codes, she was unable to spy on you, unless you were with someone whose codes she did have.”

 

Her mouth twisted into a bitter parody of a smile. “No sense of humour, huh,” she said.

 

“I regret to inform you that there is more--” She straightened and looked at him with renewed alarm. “During her argument with Commander Chakotay, before I incapacitated her for attacking him, Seven told him about the _fal-tor-voh_.” Kathryn buried her face in her hands. “However, the Commander was not ready to listen to my explanation. I intend to give the Doctor permission to explain my condition to him and why you helped me, if and when he asks for it.”

 

“No!” The word ripped from her throat in a savage growl. She looked up dry-eyed--anger and defiance raged on her face. “This is no one’s business but ours and I’ll be damned if I’ll have the Doctor or even _you_ , Tuvok, justify my actions to him or anyone else! If and when Chakotay and I ever become intimate enough that _I_ judge he needs to know about my previous lovers, I will choose what, when and how to tell him! Do I make myself clear, Tuvok?”

 

He held her gaze with something akin to renewed respect for the way her words imposed her force of will on him. There could be no argument. “I understand,” he said.

 

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.” The tone of her voice and the look in her eyes made it clear that it wasn’t a request.

 

Tuvok rose. “As you wish, Captain,” he said. But as he left her quarters, his sensitive ears picked up her desperate, heartbroken sobbing before the door closed.

 

#

 

“Chakotay?” Seven murmured her voice thick with exhaustion as her eyes fluttered behind their lids. Suddenly they popped open and the young woman sat up in one fluid motion--the efficiency of movement a testimony to her Borg reflexes.

 

Her eyes narrowed with hostility as she found Ensign U’Lanai studying her. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Where is Commander Chakotay? I want to speak to him.”

 

Ombagi U’Lanai folded her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair as she regarded the other young woman intently. She wondered how long Seven would keep up her pretense of control. Seven shifted uncomfortably under her steady gaze.

 

“The Commander is presently attending to other duties,” U’Lanai said.

 

“Then please inform him that I am awake now and that I wish to speak to him as soon as possible,” Seven replied.

 

“The Commander has been informed of your status,” Ombagi told her. “The Doctor should be returning to sickbay presently, as well as Lieutenant Commander Tuvok.”

 

“Seven of Nine to Commander Chakotay!”

 

Seven’s voice was hoarse, but imperious as she gave her orders to the computer. “Computer, locate Commander Chakotay.”

 

In the ominous silence that followed, Ombagi opted for naked truth. “You’ve been stripped of all computer access until further notice,” she explained. A brief panic flared in Seven’s eyes, before being replaced by smug confidence--confidence in her Borg ability to smash through Voyager’s security systems, Ombagi realised.

 

“Apparently, Security is implementing new ship-wide encryption protocols devised by the Captain,” Ombagi continued conversationally, knowing that she ought not to, but none-the-less enjoying the panic that returned to Seven’s eyes. “And given that the Captain is currently incapacitated, the Commander may not be available to see you for quite some time.”

 

She watched the former Borg try to conceal her anger and the fear lurking beneath it. “What are you doing here?” Seven demanded, fixing Ombagi with her piercing blue gaze.

 

“I was asked to be your counsellor, to help you learn to deal with your emotions,” Ombagi replied quietly.

 

“ _You_!” Open disdain twisted Seven’s features making her rather ugly in Ombagi’s opinion.

 

Ombagi reigned in her temper before it exploded, reminding herself that she’d agreed to this assignment for the safety of her captain and her shipmates. She knew as well as anyone that if they couldn’t get Seven back under control, Janeway might one day be faced with the very real choice of weighing her crew’s safety and wellbeing against turning off Seven’s emotions or even leaving the ex-Borg behind. Considering her complicated feelings for Seven and given her willingness to give up her relationship with Chakotay to make the younger woman happy, it was a choice that would only add to the Captain’s already considerable burden of guilt and could well tear her apart.

 

Ombagi smirked. “Yeah, funny that,” she drawled. “I guess they figured that being a second generation Vulcan hybrid, I might know a thing or two about struggling to balance erratic emotions against a need for the structure emotionless logic provides. I’ve been asked to help you adjust to your new circumstances.”

 

“I don’t _need_ your help,” Seven sneered.

 

Ombagi felt her temper straining against the bonds of her control once more. Her face felt frozen in its mask of Vulcan calm. “You tried to kill the Captain,” she said, her voice brutally hard. Seven flinched as if from a physical blow. “You tried to _kill_ the only person who, for some reason I know is unfathomable to you, has always looked for the good in you first--”

 

“A woman whom,” the Doctor interrupted, “when told that the only way to ensure that you wouldn’t endanger her crew with these fits of ungovernable rage was a shunt that would bypass all emotions, demanded that I find another solution.”

 

U’Lanai hadn’t heard him enter; he made his way over to the biobed glaring angrily at Seven. The former Borg couldn’t meet his gaze and bowing her head, fidgeted with her bed’s coverlet, pulling it tightly around her body. In that moment, Ombagi could see what Janeway saw in Seven--a lost child.

 

“Ensign U’Lanai has agreed to be a part of that solution,” the Doctor continued, “so that the Captain won’t have to watch me flip a switch in your head and turn you into a perfectly compliant drone again.” Seven shuddered and nodded; Ombagi could see the tears coursing down her cheeks.

 

“But you’re going to have to work at it, Seven,” Ombagi said gently. “And part of that will be meeting with me. Together we will try to build some emotional support structure into your life, but for that to happen, you’re going to have to learn reciprocity--learn to provide others with emotional support in return. At first we’ll meet as frequently as you need to--” Seven met her gaze with bleak, bewildered expression. “In six months, we’ll reassess your progress and decide if you’re ready to scale back our meetings to once or twice a month. And as time goes on, we will periodically evaluate how much of my services you’ll still require.”

 

“And what if I can’t learn to control myself?” Seven cried; voicing the fear Ombagi knew was at the root of her belligerence.

 

Ombagi studied her intently for a few moments. “If you work hard at it--if you give it an honest try, there’s no reason to believe that will happen, Seven,” she replied.

 

“There’s nothing biologically wrong with those emotional association centres in your brain that I can tell,” the Doctor put in, “other than they’ve been artificially kept in a juvenile state. I wouldn’t even say that they’ve atrophied--which would have made your recovery infinitely more complicated--it’s just that they’re the association areas of a young human adolescent. The reason the Borg may use failsafe circuitry to provide emotional governance rather than excising those areas of the brain or allowing them to atrophy, is that those areas are necessary to not only integration of more basic forms of biofeedback, but also to the native intelligence of most humanoids. Furthermore, through the implant, those areas could be co-opted to serve the Borg agenda of assimilation.” The Doctor laid his hand on Seven’s shoulder. “And that might just be the silver lining to this particular part of the assimilation process.”

 

Seven looked at him; Ombagi could see the kindling of hope in her eyes. “The human brain has a great capacity for plasticity and for learning,” he continued gently. “And the brains of children and young adolescents even more so. By artificially inducing those areas to remain juvenile, the Borg not only ensured that they retained an drone’s native intelligence while keeping her under full emotional control, but they also ensured the side effect that the potential for a full emotional spectrum could be restored once the controls were removed.”

 

“That’s part of the reason why Icheb could give you his implant, yet still have the emotional control of an average adolescent,” Ombagi said and Seven turned her attention once more on her. “He did what every child does and we thought nothing of it. He learned that control through experience and example from the adults around him. Most aspects of a species socialisation of their children are not things adults consciously think about--and that’s especially true of humans. But Icheb was also lucky in that he was the emotional age in keeping with his outward physiology. When the crew looked at him, they saw a boy on the verge of becoming a young man and treated him accordingly for someone at that stage in life.

 

“Unfortunately, when they looked at you, they saw a woman and your implant’s failsafe complicated matters by making you seem more emotionally mature than you actually were. Had you not turned it off, no one--including you--would have been the wiser. And had you followed the Doctor’s regimen for stepping down its control, the transition towards actual emotional maturity probably would have happened with few people even realising it.

 

“But that,” Ombagi continued with a smile, “is, as humans put it, “water under the bridge”. You can’t go back and do it again, nor can you change what has already happened. All you can do is move forward and learn from this. Do you think you can do that, Seven?”

 

The other young woman nodded mutely. Then, as Ombagi watched, something seemed to snap inside her.

 

“Do I have a choice?” Seven spat angrily.

 

Ombagi squashed her own anger and wondered not for the first time if she was up to the task of counselling the former Borg. But she had pledged herself to the task and she could tell that it would be an uphill battle with Seven fighting her all the way.

 

“There are always choices, Seven,” she replied quietly. “And it’s past time that you learned how to make them and how distinguish between good and bad ones.”

 

#

 

Kathryn smiled and nodded her acknowledgement of Chell’s enthusiastic greeting as she breezed into the mess hall for a cup of coffee on her way to the bridge. From the smell of things, the portly, blue-skinned Bolian was getting a head start on lunch--warp core chilli, or some such thing to strip away the epithelial lining in her mouth and oesophagus.

 

Her smile didn’t fade until she was safely in turbolift. She took a deep breath and then a bracing sip of coffee, willing her doubts and fears back into the pit of her stomach.

 

 _“Never let them see you cry,”_ she told herself firmly.

 

Voyager’s crew needed their Captain, even when Kathryn woke up in a terrified tangle of sheets and gasping for air as phantom hands about her throat squeezed the life out of her. Even when Kathryn was afraid to be alone in her quarters; afraid to close her eyes at night. Rubbing away the lump in her throat, she forced herself to stay on top of the tears that threatened to escape, barely hanging on to her captain’s mask as the doors opened.

 

Chakotay rose immediately as she stepped onto the bridge surprised to see her there at 09:00 hours in civilian clothes; she still had at least another week in the Doctor’s imposed vacation. She forced her lips to curl into a smile as she waved him off.

 

“I know, Commander,” she said. “Do me a favour? I’m not here; forget you even saw me.” His eyes brightened and he chuckled at her conspiratorial tone. “I just came to get a few things from my desk--I’m meeting B’Elanna in an hour to go over her work on the ablative armour.”

 

“Understood Captain,” he replied. “You were never here!”

 

“Thanks, I’ll be out of your hair in a couple of minutes,” she said, disappearing into her ready-room.

 

Kathryn sat stiffly behind her desk; despite the Doctor’s hyposprays, she still experienced a dull, throbbing ache in her lower back and abdomen, which got worse as the drugs wore off towards midday. However, it would be another two weeks or more before she was healed enough to be completely free from pain.

 

Seven of Nine had left sickbay and three days before, made a sullen, resentful apology to Kathryn, before returning to work. But this time, at U’Lanai’s urging, instead of being the semi-despotic ruler of the astrometric lab, Kathryn had turned over Stellar Cartography to Jenny Delaney and Lieutenant Yortig and arranged it so that Seven would be reporting to the new Astrometric Head, Megan Delaney, under Tuvok’s watchful supervision. As U’Lanai put it, Seven might still have that incredible intellect of hers, but did the Captain really want a hormonal fourteen-year-old, no matter how intelligent, in charge of a vital department on the ship?

 

And no matter how unfair it might seem or how resentful Seven was of her demotion, Kathryn knew that the former Borg was even more ill equipped now to deal with the personalities of the crew members who served in Astrometrics. Or with the emotional fallout if anything were to go wrong while she was in charge. But it still hurt to see the resentment and flashes of hatred in Seven’s eyes each time they met. And there were moments when Kathryn wanted nothing more than hold the vulnerable young woman close, stroke her hair and tell her everything would be all right--even though seeing her brought flashbacks of that twisted nightmarish face floating above her while trying to suffocate the very life from her.

 

Kathryn coughed involuntarily. Chest heaving in staccato bursts, she forgot how to breathe. Violent shudders ripped through her and it took a few moments for her to recognise that she was close to a full-blown panic attack. After a couple of deep cleansing breaths, she brought herself under control and dried her eyes with trembling fingers. She sat motionless for a while, staring off into nothingness, trying to marshal enough strength to get her through the rest of the day--or barring that, she’d settle for the next few hours.

 

Of course, rumours flew around the ship at warp 10 regarding the night Seven had attacked the Captain. Although the Command Staff had released an official statement explaining that a malfunction in one of Seven’s implants had caused her to act irrationally, it only added fuel to the fire. The latest one making the rounds was that Chakotay and Kathryn had made up after the incident on the holodeck and that the day Seven had attacked Kathryn, she’d caught Chakotay sneaking out of the Captain’s quarters at 05:00 hours. It made her so angry, it blew a fuse in her implant.

 

Kathryn smiled a small, bitter smile; she thought she recognised Tom Paris’ deft handling of the situation in there somewhere. She’d been angry when she first heard the gossip, but as Tuvok had said, “humans talk”. It was inevitable and it was better to use Paris’ ability to steer the rumours so that they died a natural death, than try to quash them and imply some impropriety between the Captain and Commander they were trying to hide.

 

Like a captain desperately in love with her first officer.

 

Bringing her mind back to the task at hand, she rifled through the compartments in the lower desk draw and quickly found the PADDs of notes she was after. As she pulled out the last PADD, her fingers brushed against something hard at the bottom of the compartment. She knew what it was even before her tactile senses registered the smooth, rounded edge, the embossed top and that sensuous feel of the chain links as she pulled it out of the drawer.

 

The silver watch gleamed in the light; Kathryn’s heart broke again at seeing it--another reminder of lost opportunity. Chakotay had given it to her on her birthday three years before, allowing her to briefly glimpse the love in his eyes that she’d found so overwhelming--the love she had ignored because she found it too threatening to her resolve of getting her crew home.

 

The love she could only wish for now.

 

She kissed the watch reverently and slipped it into her pocket. First things first. She and Chakotay needed to rebuild their professional relationship and they both needed space and time to heal. And they needed to get their friendship back on the solid footing before turning their thoughts to other things.

 

Gathering up the PADDs, she steeled herself against the dull pain, rose and left the ready-room at a brisk clip.

 

#

 

“I deserved to be at that briefing!” Seven shouted angrily.

 

Ombagi U’Lanai uncurled from the traditional _ahn’kir_ meditative position most Vulcan women practised instead of the rigors of _kolin’ar_ and studied the young woman pacing the confines of her living room. Today was obviously not going to be a day for quiet meditation.

 

The change in Seven was remarkable. Gone were the revealing, body-hugging catsuits she’d favoured since the Doctor removed her from the Borg body armour. The baggy grey sweater and black slacks she was wearing--like most of her clothing now--were probably the most dowdy-looking, shapeless things she could find in the replicator. But put her in a Vulcan ceremonial robe and you’d still be aware of that knock out figure . . .

 

 _Much to Seven’s own consternation_ , Ombagi thought as she watched the object of her concern unconsciously tug at the sweater where it clung to her ample bosom. U’Lanai could see that she was painfully aware now of her body and her very real, albeit adolescent confusion regarding its effect on the opposite gender.

 

Of course, there were still moments when she could be frighteningly Borg when dealing with people, but those incidents were mitigated by almost equally frightening bouts of uncontrollable emotion--especially anger--and her mood, despite the stabilisers, could change at the drop of the proverbial hat.

 

Seven was a study in contradictions now, simultaneously clinging more than ever to her logical “Borg philosophy of efficiency” as the Captain called it, yet irrationally becoming angry when someone pointed out a flaw in her reasoning or a mistake she’d made. The thought that the shortest distance between two points was not always a straight line was an anathema to her. Furthermore, she took an inordinate amount of pride in showing off her Borg-enhanced intellect, but did everything she could to hide her remaining implants--like the way she wore her hair now, practically covering her left eye. And she’d developed a nervous habit of hiding her enhanced hand behind her back when she wasn’t using it.

 

“Why do you think you deserved to go?” Ombagi asked quietly.

 

“Because I did _all_ the mapping for the sector we’re entering!” she retorted. “And I know the astrometrics systems far better than Megan Delaney. She wastes valuable time hunting and pecking through the files because half of the time she doesn’t even know what she’s supposed to be looking for!

 

 _And you’re not about to help her_ , Ombagi thought ruefully. Time for a reality check.

 

“Lieutenant Delaney is the head of the Astrometrics Department now,” Ombagi said. Seven glared at her. “I’m sure that if she’d needed your help with the presentation to the Captain, she would have asked you to accompany her.”

 

“It’s _my_ department!” she said harshly. Her voice shook as she tried to control herself. “My hard work that made it what it is--without me this ship would still be scrambling around with half-blind sensors!”

 

“And it’s not fair.”

 

“Not fair! Not fair?” she screamed. “It’s _her_ fault that this happened in the first place!”

 

“How do you figure that?” Ombagi asked maintaining her calm. She didn’t have to ask who Seven was referring to--the Captain. She also recognised that this tendency towards blaming the victim for the crime was a common effect of dealing with denial, but she didn’t have to like the ugliness of it.

 

“She should have returned me to the Borg at the beginning!” Seven shouted. “I begged her to . . . but no . . . she _knew_ what was best. She wanted to liberate me, but only to make me one of her personal reclamation projects. Make me over in her image! And I hated her!” she snarled. “I hated her then and I _despise_ her now! And as the years passed, I knew that I would never want to be like her--that I wanted nothing from her!”

 

“Except Chakotay,” Ombagi said softly.

 

Seven stiffened . . . shocked. Emotions flitted across her face like winds across an open plain. She turned away. “She _never_ wanted him,” she said, voice hoarse and cracking. “She never cared for him.”

 

“Is that what you told yourself?” Ombagi asked rather brutally. “Is that how you justified it to yourself?”

 

“She fucked Tuvok!” she snarled, eyes brimming with tears as she spun to face Ombagi again. “She never wanted Chakotay! He followed her for seven years and she betrayed him with _Tuvok_!”

 

Ombagi had known from Tuvok’s briefing that Seven had compromised ship’s security in a number of ways, but it only now sunk in that the young woman had been spying on her shipmates--spying on her _Captain_. But if Seven was expecting her to be shocked at the news that Janeway had made love with Tuvok, she would be sorely disappointed.

 

“You’d been dating Chakotay for months, Seven, before the Captain ever ventured into Tuvok’s bed. She betrayed no one.”

 

Seven stared in confusion. “How do you know that? How do you know when it happened?”

 

“Because I’m the one who told Captain Janeway what she needed to know to save Tuvok’s sanity and his life,” Ombagi said.

 

Seven stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown a second head.

 

Ombagi’s eyes narrowed. “And the fact that you know about that incident makes me wonder about what other despicable things you did in order to hurt the Captain,” she said harshly. “I thought that coming between her and Chakotay was bad enough, and then you trumped that by nearly beating her to death. But just how low did you go in this quest of yours to hurt the only person--besides your parents--to love you unconditionally and believe in you despite all your faults.”

 

“Oh, my parents loved me so much they got me assimilated!” she sneered and suddenly Ombagi felt as if she was slogging through quicksand and sinking fast.

 

 _What the hell did I get myself into_? she wondered in despair as she stared at Seven in disbelief.

 

The younger woman continued her venomous rant as she paced the room. “Their research was far more important than my _safety_!” she shouted. “I remember my aunt begging them to leave me with her, but they didn’t care. All they cared about was making a name for themselves and silencing their critics by being the first to document that such a society like the Borg could exist. It wasn’t love that made them take me along on their grand adventure--it was nothing but pure _selfishness_. They ruined my life, yet they barely acknowledged that I existed outside their precious research!”

 

Seven turned on Ombagi and invaded her space. “So don’t talk to me about _love_!” she spat. “And if they weren’t as good as dead already, I’d--”

 

She stopped suddenly and walked towards the door. Ombagi caught her arm and pulled her up short. Seven struggled against her grip and if U’Lanai had been anything less than part Vulcan, she doubted she would have been able to hold the former Borg woman.

 

“If they weren’t as good as dead, what would you do?” Ombagi demanded.

 

Tears rained down Seven’s cheeks. She jerked her arm away and stumbled towards the door.

 

“People make mistakes, Seven, even when they love you and Kathryn Janeway doesn’t deserve to be punished for what your parents did!” Ombagi shouted after her.

 

The door slid shut with a barely audible _shush_! Ombagi U’Lanai picked up a chair and hurled it against the wall.

 

#

 

Chakotay found Seven sobbing brokenly in the cargo-bay she’d occupied for more than four years, huddled in the dark recess between her regeneration alcove and Icheb’s. Gathering her up in his arms, he sat down on the alcove’s base and cradled her in his lap, not speaking as he waited for her to cry herself out.

 

 _God, what a mess_ , he thought tiredly. She clung desperately to him. Her tears soaked through his uniform, but it was the least he could do after U’Lanai had reported the outcome of her latest session with Seven.

 

 _“Go to her, Commander,”_ U’Lanai had counselled. _“She needs to know that we’re here, that you’re here for her to lean on when she needs it. And that it doesn’t make her weak for needing a shoulder to cry on.”_

 

Gradually, her tears ceased and he realised that she had fallen asleep. It hit him then; for perhaps the first time in over twenty years, this young woman had cried herself to sleep.

 

Chakotay sat quietly for a few more minutes, reluctant to move too soon and wake her. Suddenly he was aware of a presence behind him and knew instinctively who it was--who it could only be.

 

He rose and turned to face Kathryn; she nodded solemnly. He didn’t have to ask what she was doing there; no matter what Seven did, Kathryn’s concern would always be for her daughter.

 

“Computer,” she said. “Transport Commander Chakotay and Seven of Nine to Seven of Nine’s quarters.

 

#

 


	9. Epilogue: A toast to new journeys

“Five!”

 

The roar of the crew shook the bridge as they watched the large number display count down the light-seconds as _Voyager_ hurtled through space at warp 9 towards an invisible point that would launch them into the next phase of their journey.

 

“Four!”

 

“Three!”

 

“Two!”

 

“One!”

 

“Welcome to the beta quadrant!” Kathryn cried out as glittering confetti fell from overhead. The crew crowding the bridge went wild, shouting themselves hoarse. Even Icheb seemed infected with the excitement, while little Naomi screamed with happiness as she bounced up and down in Ayala’s arms.

 

Chakotay added his voice to the roar.

 

“Asta la vista, delta quadrant!” Paris crowed.

 

“To the best crew a Captain could ever ask for!” Kathryn shouted over the din as Chell and his helpers passed the trays of champagne around.

 

“To the best Captain any crew--in _any_ quadrant--could ever ask for!” Tom Paris shouted back as he rose from the helm and swiped a glass from a passing server. He wound his free arm around B’Elanna, who was juggling a screaming Miral with one hand, and a champagne glass in the other.

 

Chakotay didn’t think it possible, but the cheering increased in volume and enthusiasm. He realised that Harry was pumping in the response from all over the ship. This was one celebration that would start early and go well into the night, but the crew deserved it, every last one of them--even stoic Tuvok at his station and a visibly angry Seven standing next to him with a cheering U’Lanai at her side.

 

Chakotay looked away from the young woman, swallowing the guilt that rose like the tide to overwhelm him each time he dropped his guard. He raised his glass and smiled at Kathryn as she gently tapped it with her own.

 

“To the journey!” Chakotay shouted.

 

Kathryn flashed a radiant smile and held his gaze. She raised her glass and mouthed his words back to him before turning to clink her glass with B’Elanna’s and the other officers who quickly surrounded her.

 

But in that unguarded instant, gazing into Kathryn’s blue eyes as _Voyager_ sailed deeper into the black, uncharted ocean of space, Chakotay found reason to hope again. He found . . . _love_.

 

The End


End file.
